Hallowe'en
October untangles golden skeins
From the high boughs,
Roughly laughing out ragged locks of blonde.
A sudden wild wind
Looses the punctured laces
Left of leave.
On downward courses
Frantic will-less moths tilt,
Cecropian planes in a storm.
It all darkens quickly:
The limbs go grey,
Grounded leaves lose color
And gain a dusty acid scent.
Wet underfoot, they unsteady me.
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Spooked under a quarter moon,
An agile drunk has flung
A slice of white melon
Long through the night sky.
I hurry my walk home.
Pagan pumpkins burn from inside:
I smell scorched flesh, dying.