To thine own heart be true! An outlaw was beauty!

Cinnamon.
With my coffee now, no leaves have fallen, but my sweat is
.......worn out.

No bright-eyed fox dreams of heat waves.
No masked ringtailed coon of the dreaded midday rays.
And the bear lumbers away in a shadow.
The skunk rummages silent in midnight.

So apples, I will smell in the late summer car.
Warm and early, but significantly glorious.
They calm a desolation of dust and high sun,
And seek to remind of the dawn of our sleep.

And to the twilight of our eyes, as the dreams poke
their visons in,
So autumn defines
All the spectres of my unreasoning,
The banshees of my tattered rebel poems,
Trips of their ex-patriot howlings,
Photographs framing damp efficiency.

As the ages creep forward,
Or speed like light as some might grieve,
We cannot stop the terror
And the takeover
of the beauty.

This outlaw called beauty,
they have posted Wanted papers everywhere
And in blood written Dead or Alive
She in secret stealth she hides
And in secret stealth she thrives.

You cannot dampen the fires in her eyes
They burn true with alive and kind
Though behind dark veils she hides
There are children at her side,
We would look unto, infatuated,
for their beauty is so strong
and in their life blood such a wild
She is the Keeper of this child.

In the first of autumn light
with a darker shade of fire
as the evening sweeps the fight
of the summer face to retire
She is coming on so modern
She is turning facing east
This Autumn-light a new day
Or the fall of apologetic.
There be a quiet song on the peach
coloured light
that sprays like translucence
Over the velvets
on our pillows.

We shall never tire.