Once again, September has come.
And just like that, the air thickens
Like the year before this
And the one before that.

Only this stubborn September
Marches in heavy-footed, loud-mouthed
Like a fascist on a podium, claiming comic Uncertainties behind a lectern

For the hopeful to hear —
The wide-eyed, rose-colored seekers.
We are silver bobs hanging on a wire,
Stricken by Achilles himself.

It is December soon.
By then, our ankles will be sore,
Our heels pierced,
Our pockets empty.

The arrows come shooting
Like eagles on a mission,
As we swing endlessly
Back and forth,

Suspended from a fixed point —
Praying that time,
Hoping that gravity
Makes the clacking stop at once.