the land
is at odds
with the weather
it is overcast
drizzly
yet warm
with a colorful drift
of leaves
blowing lethargically
across the pitted
concrete

from the glass view
of my rolling
sarcophagus
i expect the cold winds
of childhood
to shred
through my shirt
yet the warmth
feels foreign
i cannot make amends
between
expectation and reality

instead
i let my mind
wander
with the twirling
yellows and reds
that call out
in the drab grayness
of autumnal
disaffection
putting color
into the black and white
sensefizzle
of today