A Hint of Fall [poem]

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the nights are drawing in
as cyclamen, galanthus
bow down to the earth in seed
across my inner landscape’s
multichromely tinted vale
and every bleed i’ve ever bled
conceals and uncongeals itself
from autumn’s golden smirk
and i’m undone

north taurid showery nights
now heaving sighs (those sparkly
streaking briefsomes in the sky
are every evanescent dream
of mine) as signs descending into
atmospheric entry burned
themselves like bygone hells
extinguishingful black holes
in the ether

cool air taints my nostrils
with nostalgic déjà vu as
birds of prey swoop in my face
deliberately while squawking
that the season’s carcass
reeks golgothic time has come
and distant war drum flames
make signals in the smoke

a false smile in sky’s cloud
disguises atavistic pain which
rains down saline waterfalls
in which i plungely bathe
my memories unfloundered
as i will myfadingself to drown
[homunculus astonished] but
then grace throws me a lifeline
with a promise

now noting every cell
within this lavish universe
illusion cloys my sprintful mind
with intimations [glimmers]
of an ecstasy i’ve never
known before (i am an alien
enmeshed both in and outside
what we awkwardly call time)
face to the floor



© Alan Morrison, 2019

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