…in the moldy air smells
fresh of oysters, crabs, & spiral snails
rolling inside rolling leaves, brick bells
clanging mossy in the cloudy, pale
shoving chill that makes me ill but also
stomach-filled: the french fries leave their scent,
orange trees scheme to bury seeds are all so
juicy you can tell the apple’s pent
up till bitten splurging maple peanut
butter chocolate drops in black-oil puddle
rainbows hugging sidewalks in my tea cup
coffee acorns roasting steam that muddles
windshields in the misty highways, till the
moon awakes, glow headlights, pumpkin eyes
from the deck of witches named Matilda,
Spider-Man, or ‘nother grim disguise,
all for jangling bags of shiny plastic
honey colors. Dump the leaves in drops,
feed your storm drain. Crying in baskets
tastes both sweet & sour, for sour’s a lot…
