858.

The bleeding murder
of color, leeched from the sky
and vomited down.

857.

A kaleidoscope,
muted in autumn's shadow,
strewn across the ground.

856.

The slow crawl toward
winter begins with mornings
hung in fog and ice.

855.

A celebration
found in color, joy, and death
together again.

854.

And the cusp brings out
the barrage of saints and close
skeleton's parade.

853.

Get out and dance in
the horror tonight children.
The blood will wash out.

852.

Little else is as
enjoyable than a good
quality freakout.