Another silent mid-Fall afternoon Icy raindrops slash into my neck The forecast calls for falling thumbtacks soon One thin umbrella folding Just 18 feet to the front step
With champagne acquainted But forgot how to sip it I slurp it down, eager, 'til I sit soaked and dripping
In time, fevered minds will lower ears made for hearing under waves of migraines as mighty storm fronts are nearing
So I close down the bars and stumble home under awnings Just to search for your name among newspaper cuttings I've read the whole issue and I've frowned over headlines put it down
Now, soaked or dry, I've got only time I've wasted so much of it losing my mind I'm blind in the rain that now sticks in my hide and they were right-- The forecast called for this squall to last all night
Another lonely mid-Fall morning walk I follow gangs of specters in their steps And, in the crunching gravel, ghosts will talk November winds come howling The second I leave my front step
The flavor's familiar It comes back every morning, when sunlight and sparrows ignore tornado warnings
So the gales pick up strength and a small bird's bones are hollow The clouds lay oceans down setting many sips to swallow
"So goodnight." I depart, but circle back in my wanderings I'll always wind up here--shaky, ash-faced and yawning I've read this before it's printed on poor paper in red ink
I can't say why I'm still walking by Those other front doorsteps that I never try The thick thumbtack rain stopped but I can't stay dry the ghosts were right-- But if I find your name I might stop by.