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She wants me to
believe that her
bibulous moon calf
copulates with
her in her slumber.

She's too far
gone for me to
**** with.
Although my
body
dwindles more
every day,
my soul and
emotional strength are
renewed moment by
moment.

And even though
fall turns into
winter, and I
feel the icy
wind in my
bones,
spring will come
eternally to
the core of who
I really am.

And for that
I celebrate.
Live life fully brothers and sisters.
Please excuse the boundary
of my sadness;
it's not normal, I'm aware,
maybe, even maddening.

But, the horses need hay.
They are hungry.

Long evenings
full of shadows,
surround my blood
stained lazy bed.

The horses need hay.

Let's gather our
senses, and get to
the fields.
Make-believe we
have purpose and
direction.

Isn't that
the mindset we need
to overcome the largest
lie of them all.
Fall is the most beautiful time of the year for me, with its blushing  
Apples and fruitful trees dressed in zesty rubious healthy leaves with      
Luminous fruit hanging off its stems, like galas, granny smiths, and fuji
Leaves of multi colored sunburnt shades of yellow, gold and brown  
Inside the orchard, ladders, bushels, straw hats and farmer pant- grins  
No better place to be then underneath an Autumn tree when every    
Golden leaf shimmer-shimmies before swiveling down at  your feet    

Leaves that dance and shuffle-shake before landing in your hands    
Earthing to the ground covering you with giant leafy  dry crispy limbs  
Arrest the night, stop the moon, hold the stars, its time to listen to the      
Voices of the night, the falling leaves have their sorrowful story to tell
Ease into their season with a quiet soul.  Help them say goodbye to the  
Summer. After all it is the season of Autumn,  a time for falling leaves.

September 27, 2021
 Oct 2021 grumpy thumb
wordvango
Business on
Forest Street how quaint,
the merchants displaying their wares
Mid 19th century like,
On sidewalk displays of commercial
Renaissance,  essence of Renoit
air
Of the Bard
Touch of town folks fresh from the hills
In wagons long dresses cowboy hats and wood
Silks and satins of bright colors
And patterns
In celebration  of how good
It was
Back then
Says horses and slop bucket smells, gaining the footing of paved streets,
Over septic systems carrying the
Saintly smells of yore underground
So efficiently, yet
We yearn
As an old man
I know yearning, for days gone by
Now golden
Were it tinged glowing gold by my mind decades old or by
My eyes cataract and unfocused,
I do not know.
Why I would like
To know.
At my age
Is the future still
So far off?
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