depression
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Each autumn, the leaves surrender in gold to the ground belowWindswept from indifferent branches they fed all summerThe waters know what it means to be battered to and froriver stones worn grief smooth by careless currentsin choreographed odysessys flocks abandon the snowand even the earth accepts the sun’s cold shoulderso why do I hold fast
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What is that?A smell, not just bad it’s stickyCollecting on the bottoms of my shoesStalking my stepsSeeping into my fiber Its dank syrup stains my sleepLeaving me restlessTossing, turnt into this stink bereftWithout even the refuse of dreams As sharp as bone shardsRelentless as a headacheBurrowing into my temples’ sweet meatHas anyone has noticed the
circular staircase 