October Nips

Busty shaped and large of hip the busy winds of October buffet my brain within its whistling cave. Around the shoulders of every lumpy molehill taverns and tankards bloom in a russet corner of light. September leaves leave, shaking their brittle cuffs and frills, they fly sideways riding upon broken rafts of tangled sticks. October blusters as it bustles, its wide-spread mouth warmed-over by wafts and beery blasts. Now is the time to flap long coats, to run ahead of a creaking moon as it rolls drunkenly into winters nippy and thin-lipped ice.