If I follow & I think I'm starting to, the world is a plaza,
large, marble, littered with yellow leaves, bright against the overcast
& I am King of Autumn. Beyond the door is hell, where the leaves burn.
Beyond that birds tossing as in a dryer. Two women trail their hair over me.
Star barrettes. Sticks, leaves. Petals. Swept neat as campsite.
Ah, the sweeping, the blessed sweeping. Heart knocks like radiator pipe.
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