Oh, fall. You are so damn funny. I found all of those leaves you left out. I hope you don't mind that I blew them onto the devil strip. I'm sure you'll make more.
Do they say that no two leaves are alike, or is that just for snowflakes? I suppose no two falls are alike, either. If I had to name this fall I'd call it The Runaway Fall. Because here we are, going into week fucking nine, and I'm just like, "huh?" The Forgotten Fall. The Fallen Fall. The Fall O' the Whoops it's Fall. The Unfall.
I have spent almost all of my time on The Monkey and the Wrench.
New poems? No.
Will this stop soon? I really hope so. I feel all dirty when I don't write poems. And not in a good way.
This weekend has been designated for lazy. Let's see how it turns out.
PS: Monkeys and wrenches not included.
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