Saint Autumn
autumns weary saint unceremoniously patterns out a few leaves.
stained fingers against drum rolling tobacco papers work quickly.
round about him perenially leaking wisdom.
square about him corners juxtapose against his skin.
once again staggering round september
twice again full of muddied puddles.
three times again he blends his footsteps to unravel.
now the pavement tends to keep an ambivalent expression
at this time of year.
not like the elegant industrial poppies who's sledder stalks are
messed into a woven chain link fence next to the seven-eleven
on barber blvd.
leaning against the fence he can see through the window a glowing
ganesha next to the register chain smoking, he wonders if he will
ever be able to quit.
but still he is reverenced about this time of year.
autumns forgotten pilgrim holy in his rainy cathedral
waters all mosaics on street corners as he hides his secret
of a cracked oval sun with shaky gray clouded hands.
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