Just another poem about fall
This story
starts across town past two and everything is closed,
sleeping curbiside
among strangers and solitude.
Screen doors slam shut with august
and take to the street
against traffic
and broken glass
with dogs walking people
who wish they could remember their dreams.
September pushing through like
Tragedies in the form
of radio waves
and wine vineyards
over seas
that smell like grape jelly in our fridge,
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