I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, October 4, 2010

October creeps in

October in the Chair

Leaves dry brush the parking lot
in whorls of brown.
Flocking clouds pile up
on their migration south,
turn a bruised black and blue
and swell to bursting.
Aroma of crushed apples and
burning brush feed
fever dreams of iced lawns.
Cars grow winter coats
of fuzzy road dust.
The clopping of nighttime horses
becomes crisper
before their breath coats the air.

2 comments:

Rick said...

I liked this a lot, Steve. Made me forget my plagiarism post for a few minutes. There's something about your pacing and the strength of your imagery that is quite powerful.

Steve Buchheit said...

Thanks, Rick. Glad I could give you some respite from that. And if you need me to hold the bastard, just let me know.