lying in bed misty-eyed
and i don’t know why
is it because i’m reading
on the road again
and it’s getting to the point
where it gets really sad
and sal (jack) is sad
and knows that he’s sad
and somehow will always be
that way like i will
october always reminds me of jack
leaves on the ground
dead and crisp
like locust shells
before being covered
by the white shroud
of december
october in the sleepy mill town
of lowell that must have been
to jack what the suburbs
of linden are to me now
like anderson’s small town canvas
where big city dreams are painted
jack is the october bard
as it’s the only season
that embodies all loneliness
like he wrote so many times
in visions of cody –
october october october
where children don masks
and dress like phantoms
before the advent
of pristine winters
where they are humbled at altars
in sunday suits
gawking at an infant statue
in a lost wonder manger
‘who is this child?’
and then god dies
in the child’s heart
with his or her
first heart break
and is swept away
with santa claus
and fairies
and evil spirits of the night


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