a perfect definition of drinking the cold cup

I am easy, too. It is true. And the warning, or the discouragement from ease, from a friend or two... they would say a worry which is meant to cling me to an ideal aloof. I am sitting here now; it's officially november because we can all tell... it's the still skeletal yard trees, the weird quiet in the morning, the unlikely solid overcast, thorough, final. Some near-winter punctuation. The dregs of sentimentality. It's a new frost! from the stranger cat, a white paw pressd to my leg, his one eye is green, his one eye is blue. The arm hug of claws.

Am I the only fearless one? is it impossible to be the only fearless one. When I charge with ebullience: fear is the killer; and I charge again, burbling, gushing, effluvial: communication serenade it all about... and to never, ever use love in your sentences.

no v ember

the sight of leaves on street. the fold of my hand around one, veins transluscent through and towards a streetlamp, or the bright of the sun, or the shine of the moon. The wet sky making through the dark of the early night, visible only too by these orange and yellow lights. the size of one leaf, bigger than a face. the sight of a leaf appeared dipped bloody, or into the juice of a beet, or any other naturally staining intoxicant discharged by a wet autumn root.