Careful!—there,
reticent
Monday complexion—look-
out for loose heavenly
reams of leaves
falling—not exactly
your way, but slightly
right
at you—
at ten
o'clock, or maybe
then—sharp
in the morning—up
ahead in the cheek-
stinging wistful
sweet wind of November—with all
its
might whisper-
ing—
What the hell?
what
the hell?
what the
hell
what?
the hell
are
you?, sighing
down
there—still
doing?
not-
laughing—
