October
lies waiting; a tiger beyond September
hungry
for wildebeest boxes sugar-topped corny flakes
jellied
berries of orange, red and blue dropped from the world
wary
that decorating signs of seasons changing like neon dreams
become
obstructions deftly yo distant destinies
Driveways
of blacktop spiral downward in space-time vortexes
girding
the round world wankily
-creation
encrusted in part
like
a jewel
shedding
months of amnesia fading yesterdays
unconcerned
with old times' broods of days settled
while
foods that flowed like shiny lucre
compiling
resolutely and silently as August rolls away
gold-plated
to its temporal garage
sounds
of potential emerging earthquake symbols
sun-tide of clouds overcoming mountains
taller
than those eroded away
So
nothing remains of summer to remind one of bitter-sour
recognition
that time is more and less
burnt
creme repasts of something and nothingnesses-
verisimilitudes
of years were barren and never being
Nothing remains of summer to remind one of bitter-sour
recognition that time is more and less
burnt creme past of something and nothing
verisimilitude of years that were barren to never being
Food for bear wistfully wandering wait where trees fall
through clef notes echoed in chords when quantum uncertainty
izes indeterminate super-positions of all possible locations
nerve again isolated from wave-particles traversing
reasons that ideas and tides of words emerge to expression
All forests of dying green meadows with fish of September
seek magnetic traces of river's home profits
political currents covering hundreds of swimming fins
through-put being and nothingness
After October another wave names months so cold
those in cracked, parched dry lakes baking under the star
feel a glimmer of theoretical relief if a thought
receded in time to global warming farther north
packing November's proud icy snows
floating in fogs mountain skies
stops
frosting one Earth with its December
turning away from another like the year before
when solstice's short day leaves night smiling
every thing that could be said about September said
when poets that loved summer went on strike
thinking of grass mowed
and goats frolicked with piles of chewy delight
Just for a moment when the sun stops flight
Earth waits for second impulse to return to increasing photon lucidity
as if tight days packed together were sober with realization
sensing increase lost with the innocence of September where the pressure of time
stocks stores up for fall transition
inventory clerks counting what's on shelves
discount stacks built time
a new class arrived to eyeball tomorrows with secret lusts
rhymed with cheap novels worlds away
written about leaves falling in autumn colors
that were multifarious coatings of puke
barfed upon the topography like sessions of Congress
almost none loved
Presidential campaigns perfecting pomp and circumstance
so persons of interest leaning against lampposts
contemplating unknown billions in back street pacs
indifferent to common hopes
for shelter beside the door, hammer and plans
in the bug hotel risen high
with a tidal wave of minutes given before nothingness
the sum total of darkness
itself disappears before the day
September comes.
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