Leaving Town

When the thought of leaving this town
Arrives at my senses, soaked and bored
In neighboring tears, rather say in humor
Of wind-swept conversations,
Dipped and crooked in clear weather-
Some erosion of mind about to grasp the
Beautiful walk; the prospects of new year
Faltered everywhere. I won’t be curious though.
Cities, bridges and yellow forest- the inflamed
Landscape carrying confusions
And scorching wind ceases near life.
How about the myths of harvest moon
When my sobriety bleeds?
Each appearance of astral scruples eagers
To fulfill