Thursday, September 11, 2014

—OF SEPTEMBER

Sorry—but
all of the 
velvety Bach

chorales—spicy black 
chicory 
coffee—and odd-

scented cigarettes
it could 
possibly muster

just won't keep
a homebody comfy—
when that

first chill!—still arcane 
and divined 

purely
in the abstract—

of winter—nevertheless
first 
dares sneak

inside—to tickle 
his still-
burnt

umber neck
near the middle—

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