The Cemetery On Broad Street

My eyes never blink,
Sight the black-pointed tips;
Iron-like spear-heads
Reminding me the way
To Heaven;
Then the gray-passed Fall
Settles in the crevices,
And fills the brain-cracks
Painting this,
This master canvas;

See the Stones creeping up
Like soldiers without bones;
All crooked and pale,
Like fog dreams faking
A vague mystery...
Then my eyes like half-moons
Squint cold tears as I blow
And wish the winter away
Just to read them.