"I'll bury you in this story."

i have weird shapes

and jagged stones

in my mouth that

tell sleepy stories

while swimming 

through last nights

noir dialogue; some

conversations are

better had during the day.

conversations in pattern.

the jawbone sat still

anonymously, speaking

in half a whisper.

come to grips it said

the sunlight will hide for months

your time will end soon.

concrete holds us both

and our conversations are

stunted like cold breaths.

out of sorts.

I dread the changing of the seasons

four times a year I feel out of place

in my own skin, as my body gets used

to another climate in which it does

not feel like it belongs at all. I am a

stranger to this land, when fall skips

a beat and winter arrives unannounced

rudely like a drunken houseguest; If I

could I think I would hibernate like a bear.