~

as the gob of autumn yawns ( snway nmutua fo bog eht sa )

…

night is creeping, spot the crook
blacker than a sooted rook
burning on as if a book

cancelled like a harmless joke
fire flaps with arms of smoke
fogging forth, the pasture’s cloak

bugger me – the morning spawns
stagger yon & polish horns
as the gob of autumn yawns

death’s anew in olden blues
bushes gurning, turning shrews
green is gleaming golden hues

scree’s the hordes of falling leaves
tapestries, this season weaves
all is balls & summer heaves

huffs another fuck it then
pisses off beyond the glen
floating when the poets pen
…