in the stricken moonlight of dismal october
the deathly calm of eleven fifty nine is viral
a ghastly breeze breathing it's stench of lonliness
frightfully numbing the last minute of the hour 
with it's insubstantial fear
the corpse like hands flickering upon the flesh
metaphorically taunting you with bouts of chill air
and then slowing it's indecent amusement
the filth assigned politically to the gutter rolls
still getting nowhere in it's paralysed posture
and the dry crackle of the falling leaves is haunting
as they fall from the withered trees, like the tears from a child
and twist upon the ground in frantic fits
the wind howls with extravagant gaiety, so blissfully
as the weary hands of the clock continue to travel
so slowly, so defeated and miserable..
-
fragmented shadows sweep the littered streets
casting devious shapes upon the cobblestones
somber objects of logical geometry, some jauntily ungeometrical
and abstract images of your own morbid creation
motor vehicles lay deceased upon the street
and ol' victorian houses loom overhead
lamposts blocking out the moon's pale light
with their own sickly, amber light of disease
casting their elongated shadow upon other shadows
intertwining, weaving in and out of each other
and the wails from various imprisoned canines linger upon the breeze
overanalyzing your fear..
your sarcastic imagination conjuring up vivid images
..glistening oversized fangs, being bared dangerously..
..lips peeled back, nostrils breathing out steam..
..muscles coiled, ready to spring..
you're frightening yourself, and the person hiding .. where?
inside you..
multiple personalities torment you in your plight
your delectable plight of fear upon this depressing evening
soon to be morning..
so leave the decaying night, so viral, in all of it's fright
you've managed to overwhelm yourself with emotions
anxiety, boredom, fear, amongst various others
so uncalled for they are, of course, yes, yes
and now the clock's struck twelve o'clock, finally, yes, yes
a minute's worth of now dying emotional grief has struck
and now a new minute, and hour has begun
your melancholy promptly subsides, and your heels click, resoundingly
upon the cobblestone street, click, click, click
-
`look forward to your dread again each night from now'
`we love to haunt you, torment you, tease you, and flaunt your fear'
`to you, only you, at eleven fifty nine'
`goodnight'