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MIKE MORAN
WRITING * PERFORMING * DRAWING * TEACHING

  
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October's Dead

Kicking through the autumn leaves
He thinks he sees you here with me
And he's humming a song by Edgar Allan Poe

Waving at the plaster hand
That's waving back at us
Framed behind a greasy shop window

      Shotgun thinking blasts me in two
      And the leaves like guts spill on to the street
      The trees and me bleed orange and red
      October's dead.

Turn back the clocks; set back the time
This kitchen-sink romance never tried to rhyme
The winter blows through my open bedroom door

Jack o'Lantern playing solitaire in the trash
I think he should fold cuz it ain't gonna last
I get the feeling that I've been here before

      A harvest moon and a pumpkin dream
      Keep them in pockets--I'd like to share them with you
      You're trading snowflakes with him instead
      October's dead

A cummings poem pressed in poetry book
Turned into a leaf when I last took a look
I'm Anyone living in a pretty how-town

You're no longer No-one cuz no one's with me
You wanna be with him then let me be
You're Annabelle Lee and you're Nevermore chained down

      December brings out it's killing chill
      And the streets go dead early at night
      You call me up--did you forget what I said?
      Well, listen up, goddammit,
      October's dead!