September is somnolent in northern Autumn.
When it’s forgotten and forgivable
To drink shadows of *** and swallow delirium.
But not forgiven nor forgettable.
When one can’t sleep for a throbbing dream and the hearts heavy drum.
For September is slumberless in northern Autumn.

Smell the collapsing splashes of our sea.
Through the night air hear the rip which whispers “Come...”
Sound out to spell a joke in memory.
To no one say, ‘I lost my way but once…”
For no one to hear but our waning moon.

Now know the lullaby of falling leaves
Slowly shows a song of things in decay.
Silently the scythe, she cleaves and bereaves.
While with things in adequate disarray
The moon forever falling towards us
Who never touches nor brushes the surface
Will drift away.

Cry for that pain.
To drink the shadows of *** and know shallow delirium.
To think that things are and can’t be undone.