dear august

the weather here is a frozen squash.
it is orange,
my tongue is iced to the skin,
and it is halloween.
these dutch children do not dress
as ghosts or witches, but if they did
disguise themselves, I hope it would be
as skeletons glowing in the drizzle
(it always drizzles)
and eating chocolate painted candies.

you should fly to me.
the twilight green sky doesn't
mean tornadoes here,
instead it's a sailors delight.
they've seemed to switch red and green—
the traffic intersections are mad...