Tuesday, October 25, 2016

LITTLE TROUBLE

Beheld by the mirthful 
eye of the mind,
the autumn breeze 

always seems 
to be laughing
at these certain small

disheveled lessors
it periodically sees—fevered
and glistening, fit to 

sneeze—flurrying back
to work
again sweeping 

newly strewn crumbs 
of dirt and scratchy 
bits of leaves 

out from the thusly- 
tickled elbows 
of concrete curbs 

underneath
the smirking 
windowfaces

of bloated
obsolescent
brownstones—as if 

somehow, those!
were the motes
that caused all the itching.

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