Autumn lulls me
to sleep in anguish
residing by the river
of her fears this pumpkin
masked specter flows
beneath the breath
of a deleterious moon
its shadows coveting
the ground upon
which she walks
in a prophesy of time,
an integer of dread,
like pristine clocks
in a pettifog of
lubricity forming
makeshift mirrors
of the dead in the
oft forgotten motion
of bringing mountains
of apology to its own
vacant treachery of civility
like the verse of
vacillated prosody
it is cementitious
in its delight

© K. James Ribble