64. Autumn Leaves (Myshkin, 2020) · prose poem

I’m drunk on beauty. The leaves Are burning eye-shaped holes Into my heart. Not having seasons Is stupid. Fuck palm trees, I don’t need them anymore. I have seen colors that even candy Factories haven’t dreamed up yet. The reds of Maine are different From Vermont’s maples, and seeing Burnt orange next to bright red, across From half-green-half-maroon… Makes Me giddy and whole. I had long-lost memories of nice New England Fall, from a time when I knew nothing about Devouring the present moment. They are all so Clearly mortal, winter is coming soon so we’d Better love the leaves now. I blow them kisses. And they play nice with others. Unchanging Pine trees frame them, like spiky bodyguards. I just saw the ocean serenading a small pack Of glowing tree friends. Lakes, rivers and inlets Not only subsidize their excess with water, but Also reflect their shine, doubling my pleasure. Flowers are beautiful, but in a calculated fashion Come here, little bee! Trees are doing it why? Because the world is sad and bland enough Already, and it would be worse Without the leaves.