Coastlines and Arcades
turn grey
and shutters on gates
dangle in the wind
like clapping hands.

Leaves carry themselves
across the road
like they are mourners
looking for a funeral,

until the nights and days
sink into one
making it appear
that nothing will rise above
the tip of the horizon.

Nothing

Nothing but the coldness
of the air
which makes the kiss
...

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After Summer,

Autumn is always brushed

Under the carpet

Like a half-baked afterthought

Before the winter arrives

With its blanket

Of snow rolled blues.

At the beginning of Autumn

There is a hesitation

In the breeze

Before the clouds

Darken the sky

And poison us slowly

With mustard gas.

There is a sadness

In the half c...

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