October breeze bristles the grass behind my face. This season resuscitates conflicting nostalgia and grief. So many have fallen from my grasp at the cliffs of Autumn. Some tripped into coffins while others stumbled into the arms of better lovers. No matter. All love is predestined to plummet as cold rain on helpless leaves. On this clear night I sit in an inclined field and light a glass pipe. It's crackling harmonizes with the crickets to make a beautiful symphony. Laying on the grass, I stare at the sky in cliché fashion. So many stars. They should all disappear. Imagine this dying planet encased in black like a grieving widow! Riots would purge the continents into flame. Finally something we would could all see eye to eye on. I think of annihilation while the face of a beautiful girl gazes at me through dew drops on the grass. Serene, she sings gospel for a church of heathens. Life is beautiful, life is wonderful. Everyone is dead and the ashes claw at our bones.
