farewell to november

farewell to you dear friend,
gray and wet soggy blanket,
sky of overturned seas,
drowning me in my own tears, salt
i surrendered to the bones ashore
and planted in the desperate
dense mud, into the forest's
metaform, blood washed through
trees kept in pond waters
quenching thirsty heartbreaks.
farewell sweet dream faded and
scratched in sharp bitter leaves
blanketing cemetery scraps,
i suffered long enough under
a canopy of sorrow dripping
from trees clawing the final sadness
from the belly of a swollen heaven.
farewell pale empty echo called
november, you were a miserable
guest that drank up the sea
and pissed and moaned about your
lost leaves under your stuffy nose.
farewell month of shadow and secret,
i bid thee fair travels north of inward,
as soon as you leave i am going
searching for the hidden messes
you left behind hoping december
would tend to your disarray.
farewell lonesome dove who fluttered
around trying to spread peace
when all you did was the work of seagulls,
pasty white shit stuck to windows
and stuffing up sidewalks with layers
of the discarded nonsense.
farewell and don't hurry back too soon,
don't let the door hit you on the ass
and remember that october at least
bears the rust of bronze harvests
and december her ivory fingers
like swans falling with crystal feathers;
therefore november, i bid you farewell
and thank you for your profanities
and colorless terms you had brought
in negotiating the conditions of this
annual death, your gray, your insistent
grays and gray and more gray and the
extinct yellow you flaunt as batted eyelashes
of the saddest tree, the willow.
well, november, you were a test
and tempest, you fought each round
day and oblong night with cold fists
and with your long forlorn tirades of tears
that threatened to drown even the fish
with such pitiful punching rain.
so see ya next year, number eleven,
i am stripped bare naked and fresh,
ready to collapse into december
with the snowberry bog as my marshmallow
strewn mellow marsh mattress
to buttress my burgeoning fire
that will hunt down the solstice
and drag the banished torch back from
the deep shadow and declare winter,
with his powdered wig, the judge of my soul.
november, disband your autumn jury duty,
let winter's wisdom be my judge
and summon spring to execute my sentence
with summer as my witness.
i will emerge from your sea you sent
to flood me out of heart and home,
i will take the challenge of that fisher of men
and indeed i will walk on water,
just you watch, because those tired depths
are soon to be just puddles and everyone knows
what kids can be like when surrounded
by those saucer-sized seas.