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TIME OUT
My clock has stopped
at autumn.
I shake it to no effect.
Even the alarm sounds russet.
The world is turning brown
around me.
Green, ah, that’s become yesterday’s dream.
The leaves are long since down.
I can no longer count on spring.
The blooms? They belong to others, and
Summers? They’ve become a concept
I take on faith.
My new specialty is withering.
Earth, here I come.
Fall 2011