is like a dying man's last words
I have come from the library and have books with me
and am stepping over the cracks by two's
They are unavoidable in the sharp air
Does autumn put a fog in my mind or
do I become more a aware of the fog
when I am sober?
I need to think to cool my fire
so I wonder what it would be like if my brain were to slowly deteriorate while a walked. Would I slowly become invisible or would it happen suddenly?
Beside the library there is an old woman
sweeping the walk
She totters and shakes
leaving behind her a path of stains
from the rotting leaves
Who will thank you?
She doesn't seem to hear but responds with:
Be sure to bring those books back, young man.
I do so immediatly