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Roses In November
Some search for red suns under yellow moons,
Finding lemons rather than fire hydrants.
Soft and sour, defiant yet anxious,
Flowing sideways from this idea, into the eyes of onlookers.
But we know the deal.
By the time summer came, the trees didn’t radiate,
The expo-markers tattooed the faces of children,
We stood passive under a moving cloud.
It’s dangerous to follow submarines below sunsets,
Just as school busses roil through the mind’s lane,
And the driver’s suede shoes tap to the laughter
Of those behind him. I’m just like him.
I searched for mustard in the sky, flames under water,
Foxes driving semi-trucks, roses in the autumn,
I learned that if the boot doesn’t fit,
Bind your feet.
Your knees might collapse, but so did mine.
Your mind might settle alone, we were fine,
But still frantic, decide you will never be plausible.
Your mouth might shut, but why settle for less.
You won’t be happy till the sun is as pure as your blood,
The lemon as sour as your saliva,
The fire hydrants as empty as your eyes,
Yet still we pursue this circle, so endless.
Together we stand and pensive we blush;
Search until frail, then frail we search.
Be nimble, don’t lie, seek roses come November.