The Men of Autumn, Women of the Fall. I am obsessed with Civil War reenactments,. The heart they throw into each bloodless war. On each bloodless day beginning promptly at nine. Fear never plagues their history as. How accustomed they are to cannon. Roaring overhead every twenty minutes. On the dot from the top of every hour. Lovely unhardened women with soft hands,. Men with dirt carefully applied. Each in the same place on. The breast pocket of a shiny, buttoned jacket. There are no brothers here.

She ran around the place. Up and down the stairs. Only later, I thought to tell her. That you can run around your whole life. But they will still put you in a box next to someone. Who has done nothing his whole life. She had tight trousers on. And I could not take my eyes off her ass. Every time she ran past me. As I sat and eat my noodles. I looked at that ass. Like a ripe green apple. And covered with a cream. Of a sheen of black latex.

The world is vast,. And I am but one gaunt. Men say it should be women. Men are born of women yet so. Terrified of their voices,. I wonder why so many succumb to things. Here knowing everything is wrong,.

Effectiveness from gabardine, houndtoothed. Quaked red solvents towards underutilized. Vases while xeon yodeled zeroes. I told a secret only to N. Who knows De and H. Who are friendly or chums. With Do and B,. Do will probably tell BJ.

Sky sailing, restricted much. In sweet wallflowers known to be birds,. Hesitation, wishing garden bells were seasons, works. Which handed you the sunset. A flake, sky sea-iris. Some of it lying pianos, joyful lights,. Familiar rocks, somber love and God.