October is over
by Julio Chapluzki
and once again I’m alive,
seeing the waning light
at the end of the fall;
gaining strength
from rotting leaves,
dying grass,
general decay;
hoping that i’ll survive
while watching everything else die.
and once again I’m alive,
seeing the waning light
at the end of the fall;
gaining strength
from rotting leaves,
dying grass,
general decay;
hoping that i’ll survive
while watching everything else die.
The dawn defibrillator sends shockwaves to senses.
Inhale.
This city’s heartbeat wakes, resumes rhythm.
Eighteen and a half miles, the morning blood rushes in filling arteries and streets.
Same as every day.
Mundane miracles.
And still—
swooping beyond exit bends through threshold: arriving
to tree-populated panorama; Terabithian splendor.
Boughs and extensions slathered in forest fire fog—
heaven and earth make love. Skyless.
Thomas Kinkade kissing leaves with golden caresses.
So much more:
pinks, pops and pitch pine and yellow, layers of lush,
delicate and cherry, cedar, plum, red maples, magnolia!
Watercolor fireworks sprout from the cream.
To say beautiful amounts to a crass joke.
Cameras can’t capture periphery in a frame.
If only.
Time later—a turn, to return, to remember—take in, captivate again.
Let’s get this heart beating.
Exhale.
These lungs—
Five o’clock the surge resumes.
Eighteen and a half miles.
Crayola 64 transcendence—pastel and pencil, ephemeral majesty.
The sun soaking sweeping canopies in melted butter.
Licking lips at ice cream scooped clouds slipping into rusty horizons.
Cornucopias of leaves the colors of a candy store.
Gaia how you flaunt, and so unknowingly—painting masterpieces in passing.
Acceleration back onto the highway as it intersects with more highways.
Filling every vein and throughway.
Transporting life to fringes—fingers.
Vehicles scurrying red blood cells, white blood cells.
Yellow purple, orange blue, black silver lining, four-wheeled, retractable roof cells.
Gnarled street signed conglomerations, overpasses, underpasses, metal, barricades,
flashing lights, white font on green, white font on green over asphalt
asphalt asphalt over cement, potholes, sink holes more asphalt
and 7,145,249 and 5/8ths fuming blood cells and half as many semi-trucks
all devoted on going somewhere.
Civilization, call it progress.
The Big Apple, it’s rotting.
Beloved humanity, is this your comparable superlative?
For in the approaching season you will tarnish the glittering snow scapes,
transforming marshmallow rapture into the feces-streaked slush of my sin;
into scattered splotches of melting coffee custard.
with its sweet lilting voice
i have succumbed
to the lull of summer
and the interminable desire
to hibernate until winter
(or at least fall)
when i shall again arise
in magnificent chapluzkian glory
refreshed by the cold,
rejoicing in the blizzards,
no longer oppressed by unending heat.
i can write LOVE on my arm
all day long but i cannot
stop the fall from falling
all over me like a whale.
sanity leaving with the
leaves i am a helpless
child to the rhymeless
wastes and abandoned humanity
that is MOUNT PLEASANT,
MI 48858 (Apt #A253).
all the debts must be
wrung in,
all of the snide comments
must be said,
all of the comfort must
get sucked with the humidity
and brought down south
to comfort the old souls
in florida being fed
by tubes and so-on.
do you remember the last
day of summer? when
we traded a pack of
cigarettes for a beautiful
sun, clouds, temperature,
scenery and situation?
that day was the last
drop of water in our
trip through the sahara.
damn you, fall,
your atrophying arboreal appendages
colonize my mind
every time i try to write
words like
crisp
scent
apples
amber
cool
dusk
breeze
rustle
harvest
haystack
chill
rake
march onto the page
and plant their autumnal flag
(which, much like that of our
northerly neighbor’s, depicts a
self-satisfied leaf).
the air has turned cold
but we’re missing
that autumn scent
leaves, somewhere,
burning in barrels
and i’m suddenly afraid
my ears will never soak in
that scent again.
July came
with reduced heat
but plenty of shine,
flexing its thermal muscles,
ramping up
to what will be unbearable,
giving good reason
to flee northward
and not return
till fall’s respite.
the cold of fall descended
in a northerly wind
with hard driving pricks
of rain that stung my face
when looked at too long,
but still i took the pain
in the joy of feeling
the promise of cold to come,
fighting the shivers
by trying not to notice
the enveloping cold
as it stole into my soul
in the wind,
in the air,
whipping,
swirling,
blowing leaves
in my eyes
in my hair
in my face,
bringing the cool
air of death
and the promise
of future life
this morning
i felt the first bite
of fall
as if sneaking in before
sunrise
testing the waters
of the atmosphere
i walked into its
sharp chill
eyes and lungs widened
as if breathing in a secret
by dawn summer returned unaware
of the thieving season waiting in the wings.
