Autumn Hymnal, or the Burgess Quartet T. G. Caston
6644
1.
2.
Hail to you Honeybee! Wings around my Adam’s apple, that blossom which you serenade so sweetly with a sonorous hum, a buzz. Descend onto my neck and caress my stubbled skin with your individual stinging nettle. Release your venom into my circulative stream and allow my throat to swell. Make me feel your pain, sweet pain and as I scream out, remember that this is a psalm I sing to you.
Summer collapses like a weak-ankled pirouette, her cheek resting on hardwood. The tilt that causes leaves to brown clogs a duck pond. Mucks it up. In a literary sense there is decay but beauty is in malevolence. Summer collapses but not before bird song chorus changes, cicada mass funerals “But best of all he loved the fall” but why write about yourself, the Fall was one woman, one snake, blind and a monument in Idaho. Fall rises an indecent erection like the Washington monument toppling foundations of collapsing structures. Falling rubble, be careful this a hard hat area. Fall rises apples fall. Fruit flies rise to the occasion an is apple born of them. An orchard does not burn but smolders, rots.
“Lava Lamp/Space Takeoff” Photo by R. Santos
