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Pine cones on the concrete and Evergreen in the air I remember

this all from last year, so it’s time to run

while it’s still Fall

don’t let it get you, don’t let it get you down




Maybe not every lesson is worth a lean but bank on the Fall 

crispy and loud and shaking, knocking at the knees 

since real eyes an crumbling expectations- not everything is an Evergreen, some leaves 

turn colors and fade, disintegrate on the street or mulch into soil 

there’s a difference in purpose, remember?, you’ve got to stretch out to be big, remember? 

But it was such a little house 

and I only played in traffic twice, the shaking roar of the buses 

usually reminded me right where I was- I’m just grateful 

for the passage of time, both the golden hour and the foggy days, I’m just grateful

that none of the mud slung stained my favorite sweater, I’m just grateful

for most nights feeling the beat walking like an urban cowboy on the concrete

writing out singing to the sunset colors on my blank mind- again,

it was one long lesson on breaking expectations, and about time

I've released into the naturalness I fought 

so hard to cultivate, and for squeezing

sweet and sour ambrosia drops out like memento-memories into a jar 

and when I’m ready I’ll drink it full for goodness sakes.

the Little House Poem

My Last Poem About Her

Somewhere the same film runs 

on, but as for this

one, it is time to end

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