Ammonite sky

leaves fall

 

leaving

 

pinholes of light

where hope bleeds:

 

muscles curl

& the dead of night

 

march into morning.

 

I’m impaled

on customary lies

 

stripped bare

dismantled.

 

Greatness lingers

at the crossroads

 

for the choice

I did not make,

 

here I sweep

dried leaves

 

loose epitaph

of summer.