so sick of people talking about the seasons.
we all get in an elevator with another and feel some type of way.

ding, ding, ding, ding "what number are you again, 42 right?"

"bingo, thanks." that's weird, how'd he know my floor.

"no problamo." ****, i shouldn't have said, no problamo.
what if he's latino.

"so, how about this weather huh? 94 degrees in mid October"

"yeah, I should have extended my lease in Saint-Tropez, haha"

ok, he's french maybe. phew.

ONE
big season is coming,

AND it's coming soon,

built from the relaxation,
of our inert, intelligible delinquencies.

I bought a harmonica,
I fear what she'll say,
wind sweeps your sarcophagus,
and here's what she'll play.

poooosh, shussshhhh
poooosh, shussshhhh
poooosh, shussshhhh
poooosh, shussshhhh            

Climatic consequences
felt by us all,
we are all allies
once this pier is swallowed.

Buoys will float
down city hall,
there are no lawyers
to get us all out of this.

Are we still
talking about
the turning
of leaves?

**** your

spring
fall
winter
summer and fantasies.

_TRF
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