Inclement Weather

die on a gray day
gorgeous with autumn colors

oilwater pooling in the road
dive into the shallows
head first

bird gets a bath
to grease his feathers
creatures quench their thirst
oilwater thickened with mites

wet and chilly
sweater and flannel
scuba gear weather
flavor of dead leaves
like dirt and worms

acid rain in the eyes
acid rain on the brain
rain that eats the names
on old headstones
dissolves like a mouse
in mountain dew
long-dead bones
big mouthfuls of germs

oilwater pooling in the road
dive into the shallows
head first

die on a gray day
gorgeous with autumn colors

Apple-Picking

Pickin’ apples off the tree:
that’s me,
ya see,
writin’ poetry
about all things Autumn.
I look for the ripest reds,
those ruddy red-heads
that caught ’em
a stubborn
sunburn
a sunny summery September afternoon,
when the white horn of the moon
was floating by
in the sea-deep deep-blue sky.
I pluck ’em
and plunk ’em
into a barrel
while singing a carol
to Autumn.

Pickin’ apples off the tree:
that’s me,
ya see,
tryna be Keatsy.
But it defeats me:
I try at it
but die at it.