IN THE AUTUMN
Autumn drops from the spit of summer.
It is brown, well-mealed, perhaps a little burnt.
Its plush resplendencies are gone; its fruits are split.
That spring, that summer, grimace
In a scattering of husks, a wizened apple, is unbearable..
And at the core :
Pipped deaths, abbreviations, futures going hard.
SEA LORDS
Stones bulk large.
Depleted plovers scrape
Their smaller partners into
Minute curves and ramps.
This junction when the bird's weight breasts
And ties the shale in patterns
Is the sea lords' making
Stones sit on.
Like rigid eyes,
Their stare worn silly
By the sea's corrosive pull.
Their grating interplay
Uncanny masochism
While the human heel depletes
The simple curve of eggs.
In a scattering of husks, a wizened apple, is unbearable..
And at the core :
Pipped deaths, abbreviations, futures going hard.
SEA LORDS
Stones bulk large.
Depleted plovers scrape
Their smaller partners into
Minute curves and ramps.
This junction when the bird's weight breasts
And ties the shale in patterns
Is the sea lords' making
Stones sit on.
Like rigid eyes,
Their stare worn silly
By the sea's corrosive pull.
Their grating interplay
Uncanny masochism
While the human heel depletes
The simple curve of eggs.