ANTS DISRUPTED

mon AM
and
theres
fog
come
down
on the f-town barricades

and it hides us
and trees point up
and i feel the 

           e       o u
heavy &  n   b   l     s
               u 

arcade fire nostalgia

that
is
autumns emptying

autumn -
an enema artist
painting
in all the shades of brown

~

and all the 
quilted 
regular 
assassinated 
street joes
are
ants
disrupted

by the pilot lights of old mystery 
the still flickering half happened 
Could Have Beens but Never Was

~

and
this autumns fag butts 
become
last autumns fag butts 
become
all autumns fags butts
in
a
spun bunched ball of sad brown gold
tugging 
on 
all 
the 
hearts
left
swinging outside of summer ribs

~

and sometimes a real light will glow

a traffic light
like an envy moon 
or a greggs bakery window
misted with cooking

and
then
some ants disrupted
will
have
some living target 
to head their meat toward

~

autumn -

its teaching us how to die

if
we
would
only look
and 
walk and learn 
in its bronze rot
and
read aloud 
from its falling yellow library
of
almost
almost
mulch
wet now before the dry grave

~

cos the fogs come down
on f-towns barricades
and the worlds
become only
phonebox big

it rings with remembrance
where you thought to forget 

its memories calling
them that were impossible 
in the cooked drull of summer
and
them that were invisible
in the perfumed hilarity 
of 
that gone and trivial 
lamb bang spring

from qt.com