Autumn Deluge

Autumn Deluge, how could I Fall for you
never in my wildest doubts did i think
something so grey could become so blue

flooding out the summer tunes, i only hear the haze of you
sinking in the sea of leaves, a bright red blue coursing through
filling up my lungs, the sharp grey ash from a summer passed
reminding me of what i had, and what could contain the vast

like a tree without a past, or a dusk that doesn't last
you left too late and you came too fast



i can't say i know what inspired this.

Redding

 Jake Redding

I wake violently; it is the Sunday following a night of lewd fun and binge drinking. An artist needs his vices. Outside, all I can hear is the sound of people stepping on fresh snow. Marching along, they all make the same noise, even with such differently sized feet.

I slip into my own comfortable footwear and freshen up for the day. Mundane moments follow as I decide if today’s a red day or a blue day. I decide on red. I put on a red lumberjack outfit, complete with a disheveled and bearded wild man. I stare myself down with vicious confidence, eat a small breakfast and leave. It’s time to work.

The work day is predictably difficult. I’ve been working with the local lumber company, Dorian Lumber Co., to help prepare for the coming cold season – it doesn’t pay well, but it finds other ways to be rewarding – and besides, my tastes aren’t too expensive. It allows me to practice my small-talk, and keeps me centered on what it means to be social. Miserable though it may be, I live for those moments among other men – not because I care for them, but because these men, with their empty eyes and sleepless nights, remind me of myself. An artist always has a mirror handy. We are the metronome.

After work we head to the bar and trade stories about our recent successes with women, and try to recollect last night’s events. I vaguely recall threatening to burn down an outhouse, which unfortunately never happened. We laugh it over, we work through our shame, we drink some more. We glance at the small TV mounted at the corner of the bar, and we watch in horror.