For in that autumn
after speech strange desires stir…
John Ashbery
As for me, I distrust
the more common seasons. This fall senses
what we have and what
we will have—
with no pattern,
no matters. The made up
made real.
(I don’t ask for anything
and you didn’t ask for that)
***
Autumn and the loss of love,
the days orphaned like the son
of a difficult fiction. Once,
I was who I wanted—now,
I have more friends.
Have wonder less
lest the worlds of others bite.
Ask you to say, Sonnet?
Mean you to say, Pincushion.
A hearty tongue
that waits the day. Heaven
is open again—
making its only mistake.
Come and look
how beautiful we are. Say
you are lonely. Say your face
breaks at nothing.
You beat it like a scar.
***
The definition of reticent is this:
people often mistake it as a synonym for reluctant.
(Ask me what I have.
Tell me what I don’t have)
***
Verdure Erased
Cold snap of twig and bark wakens
the bud-lovers.
The vulnerable summerfruit
feigns childbirth or death
to escape the gift of scab.
As for me, I distrust
the more agreeable seasons.
Strange desires, carnival release.
A laurel leaf staying green.
In this pursuit of love and mirth,
I don’t show up. I don’t care.
The minted moon team soothes
the heat rash crawling on the arms, the back.
A bed that wants
getting into.
Once, I was
who I wanted. I wanted
my lip to drop.
The Failures of a Non-Performer 