Poetry & Prose

Round as a Melon

Bedding twisted, eyelids twisted shut.
Emerge from emerald empire of dreaming into
melancholy (mystical) melon ripened day,
it is already late, it is already late.

Lately, leaves have been hanging low
and loitering around this place,
gooping up gutters and sauntering around streetways,
screaming , screaming! that everything has changed
and died and decayed and gotten deep red,
leaving no choice but for us
to feel the roundness of another year blooming.
All has blossomed, all has fallen away.
Wind runs around and around chilled beings,
breathing space into and
howling to the slow-pained transformation
from a time that was to a time that is still becoming.
Come to senses, slowly.
Windows are open, widening into world.

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