trick or treat

october night
and here i am
thinking of dad
on his birthday
his was a life
too short to be
wasted (except
on a flagon of
cheap red)
some live forever
like a calculation
well worn automatons
moving their arms and
legs like the
hands of a clock
before the alarm of death
others are the opposite
too alive and hot with the spark
imploding like lonely suns
far from the earth’s embrace
but dad was nothing but a
candle inside a pumpkin
lighting up the world and
playing on the breezes
a game for every season
having too much fun
to guard against the
february wind

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