Poetry

The Fall, 1 (245.)

Somehow, September’s usually
associated with fall,
even though the “official” switch
doesn’t happen until the end of the month.
Not that time and the seasons
give a shit about social constructions.
For the sake of simplicity,
I’ll call all September
the fall
and get really excited
for chill air and long sleeves.
Now, I’m not saying
I’m giving grocery stores and other places
the go-ahead to shove
a whole buncha pumpkins and spooky shit
into our masked faces.
Hell, I haven’t even thought about Halloween
until now.
Sorry, I just put it in your brain,
like a scooper being plunged
into the innards of a fresh pumpkin.
I can’t stop typing about pumpkins now.
I’ve been a fan of weird fiction
for a long while,
and I love these spooky times.
In a strange way, I wouldn’t mind
elongating good ol’ Spooktober –
but this is all beside the point.
It’s September right now.
This ninth month,
credit to social constructions,
time of Virgo and Libra
(blessed be the myriad stars),
has a magic all on its own.
No need for costumes, no need for decorations.
Just slow walks, long sleeves, and
a pile of good books and games.
Bring on the fall –
I’m ready.

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