December to Dismember .....
Broken glass pieces of inebriated
Symptoms sprawling in the zero hour,
Crammed on my platform, the withered
flowers and centipedes surrogating
creeping many: I am alone ;
It is not necromancy nor exorcism
By a seasoned expert:
The crude surgical hands of autumn
Laid my stems bare. I am looking up
At the good Samaritan Sky.
The cold frosty wind
entwines me with a hug,
Hopefully the numbness of November
and the chilly wintry bed
will be gone, gone.
December bells start chiming,
To Dismember many sad notes.
Come December, Come, come.
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