oddly
consoling to see
how the scant flowers
still clinging
have begun to look
ridiculous:
raffishly waving
on increasingly crisp
persuasive breezes
and offsetting now,
from their frail
and threadbare bushes,
the garish Halloween decor
which besots these
nonplussed neighborhoods.
How I wish
all those other things
I always fail to notice—
the moments
when I'm standing
right where I'm supposed to be,
or feeling (mostly)
contented
with the small things
I'm afforded—
could spring
from the dregs of my
mind like this
and make themselves
conspicuous.