Another Year

the wind is howling

and the rain splatters

like the tears

of some heavenly chorus

forced mute

by the dark and the cold

trees turn colors

and burst 

earth-tone fireworks

embers falling

into a pile at their knees

leaving them 

naked 

and ashamed

for not thinking things through

the intersection 

at the end of the drive

thumbs its nose at the 

futile attempts

of man

and becomes a lake

birds and old people 

fly south

memories of you 

grow mellow and smooth

like bourbon in a cask

another year takes the angel's cut

and leaves only the 

best parts

-kj

11/7/21

Ghost Story

 i have never understood the phrase:

"never speak ill of the dead"

why? they're dead. they don't care.

please, i beg you

when i am dead and gone

and the sum-total of my earthly works

are viewable from 

start to finish

like a movie

please, i implore you

speak ill of me

speak well of me

speak however you felt of me

if i hurt you or helped you

if you loved me or hated me

speak your truth

whatever that may be

if there is an afterlife 

i promise not to take offense

i swear not to come back and haunt you

(the living do that well enough on their own)

i vow i will not mind

as long as it is true.

-kj

11/6/21