The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

Autumnal February Seasonal Aphoria [ GESICHTEN SIE DIE SACHE DIE NICHT SEIN SOLLTE ]

It doesn’t feel like winter anymo’,

but it doesn’t feel like spring yet…

<That is the feeling o’ autumn,

sneaking ’tween January & March.

¿Have you forgotten it already

dug so deep in your dank caves?

¿Did you not notice the morns

smudged out white with fog

evolving into bright yellow days

chillywarm?

¿Have you not noticed all this month?>.

No, no, no —

It’s all wrong.

¿Where are all the colored leaves?

All I see are brumal starving barks.

¿Do you know how stupid that looks,

skeletons basking in the beach sun?

<Raise thy hair-clogged nostrils to the gray skies.

¿Can’t you smell the scent o’ cold wood?>.

That shit’s in winter.

Look, Autumnal June is 1 thing —

¿but this “Autumnal February” biz?

I’m not feeling it.

I don’t e’en remember what I feel —

it’s already crepusculing,

the hour when all the seasons lie equally black.

Posted in Poetry