a poem - autumn in five parts

autumn,
creeping,
robber of heat
thief of sky lights that
break into dinner windows.
twisting locks not open
but closed.
for winter good.
for cold good.

autumn I love thy name.
you are a stolid
iron-plated morning.
I am downcast in your
drizzle
(and I like it.)
I listen to slow guitars
at slower bars.
I eat.
fast.

autumn does not rhyme with
my style.
does not jive with
my handshake.
brings white wine
when the occasion
calls for red
or even blush!
sleeps in past the alarm,
borrows my books
steals my poems
sneaks in through
the cracked door.

autumn smells.
so does spring.
but spring smells
like
being born.
autumn smells like
orange.
and fleeting birds.
and grade school.
and pig-tailed girls
who giggle
and giggle.
and cry in secret.

autumn is a hard time
to be alive
or dead.
it's purgatory.
I don't have a chance to make it right.
I will burn and burn and burn
on through january
until april drops her rain.
until days are new
again.



oh, and like sam cooke said...a change is gonna come, yes it is

I'm ready