Tomatoes wilt and poplars yellow
\nYet still the air is hot
\nThis isn’t autumn warm and mellow
\nBut hell, I think, we’ve got. <\/p>\n
A second thought occurs, as thoughts will do
\nHell wouldn’t have this much mildew.<\/p>\n
Autumn-clad, they gather
\nRound summer’s last blooms
\nDrinking its memory. <\/p>\n
As evening descends, we scatter \/ with solitary purpose, in the same direction.<\/p>\n
In the time to compose
\na cheap little quatrain
\nabout threats the clouds pose:
\nBuckets of rain.<\/p>\n
Our minds stand stiff, like bristles
\nof a brush, to scrub away
\nreason.<\/p>\n
The weather service warns me direly, to wit:
\nThere might be a flood! Well, thanks. No &#$@. <\/p>\n
Chickens strut and squabble
\nfor dominance, never seeing
\nthe shadow of the axe. <\/p>\n
When life pus obstacles in your way
\n‘Tis not to make you weaker
\nBut to give you a story, so that you may
\nBecome a motivational speaker. <\/p>\n
Lollipop sentinels line the path
\nMelting from lime to cherry. <\/p>\n
Summer breaks like waves; the air
\nis crisp like apples green and fair.<\/p>\n
I’m sure that your Prius gets pretty good mileage
\nBut a mule would eat nothing but green grass and silage. <\/p>\n
We listen, dumb, to the hum, chatter, beep
\nOf enough wire to garotte the world in its sleep. <\/p>\n
Sentences spray
\nlike gunpowder, or spittle.
\nBefore running your mouth, whittle. <\/p>\n