The November crush
Grips the inner ghoul
And blackens the heartbeat
which slows to a sluggish pace.
Each beat slow to absorb
Every last ounce of summer blood
Hemorrhaging off the oaks
Spilling to the ground
For the dark season’s ferment.
Broken ghost emotions
Haunting the minds
Of those hunkered down
Away from the bone chill
Clinging to the last time
That they remember feeling
Fuzzy on the inside.
Frozen breezes strike
Those with smiling teeth
Like a dentist’s drill
Killing the friendly gestures
Into a tight lipped grimace.
A holy sweater covered face
Moist with the breath of
A turtle-neck Jesus is
Converting the Masses
To the snug scripture,
While the chicken soup Beelzebub
Tempts the weary spirits away
From the light and into the den
Of baked breads and unforgiveable sin.
Yet this eternal struggle
Between the heavens and hells
Can put itself on hold
Until winter slips away
And returns our imprisoned souls
From solitary confinement
Where they have been stored
Since the November crush began
And there will once again
Be a few souls worth fighting over.
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