A November Manifesto





The vagrant blue in the November fields. I have that. At least I have
That. The lost arms of flowers, though nothing weeps. And the only
Color is the gray electrical structures and the graffiti. 

There is dire in the blue, directly in this wandering. I will work out the
Equations later. 

At this rate, by the end of the year, the moon will have enough to buy 
A helicopter. And have that ankle looked at. 

Part of it is the dust from stars. Part of it rolls in the ground, 
Like a season. 

This is the part how each leaf before it catches hold 
Of the earth

Says hello.

13 thoughts on “A November Manifesto

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