Monday, October 10, 2011

burying the season

the main roads are
more main
as if you'd ever written
anything worth remembering
aside from the
pain in your dick

your head

the same
as sliding down

on your backside
the leaflitter clattering
broken like snakes
and chains
this perfect fall
described in
held breath

when love had
a broadside

odes in rain
they smell like
the dying surge
,bloated cereal boxes
,long-suffering earthworms
bruised, buried in air
;no, you've never written
one down but they live

there in her
like mushrooms
like sunlight
a cadence that sways

a funereal beat
just under the surface
of the world.

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