Waking in September is

half great half death-

the sexy low sun that pierces

your eyes and the wailing

Of the washing machine. O

sadness, the softener is all

gone, the trees are killing

themselves all over the place-

You are wedged in your bed

like a loose tooth. The imminent

bare-sole pain of the coldy tiles-

the depression! Smudges on

The wall, your mouth, the alarm-

a bastard. White skies undress

in the tsk tsk of autumn rain,

and the summer cries evil! Dead.