there's so much
wind
forgets its feet

and decides to take ours,
throwing us up
with a push.

Yes, a slight chill
but walk around a bit
that chill comes off.

Or,

warm, I guess November
put the playthings back inside
Like the driveway,
before the party started.

Even if those eggs are human lives
And omelet must be made on this nice day
60 degrees in November. The turkeys
run for the heavens, land

Long past pavement now the clams dead
these mortified, these symbolic tourniquets
stuff the sand and burn away
I'm delayering my ignorant bike

Land surrenders its pancake developers
as roots mix with the melting never snow.

Weather, to music.

doodads, tell the weather
choking friend, get mo' clever:

Listen, straight outta BK
the weather the menu
we see through this preview while dew
points list mildew

I choke the micro like it's macro
a gavel, my humidity
unravels in afternoon cupidity, cough lucidity
like when your eyes bugs
in your coffee, sun bit
makes you laughy, it's giraffy,
to reach for the moon, might be leggy
or necklace, the heckless
grips me too swoon, I soon
be so feckless, this dreckless spectator
sun die later,
this gassy ball, might fall,
throw that sea over here, it's near
I'm too blume, like Judy, my
Trudy Putoody...

Whatever. The weather is bullshit.
Ups and downs throughout the day
like I'm off my meds and this barns hay.

This came undone at the end. It was fun.
Gracias....totales.

all the right fog
lifts
paint
basketball company
muffled shuffles.

The wind
buzzsaw,
granted, its guffaws
muscled and muff,
big jacket days.

the highway is yellow, not just
the yellow lines, the red lines
veiny and forgiving
We'll come here next
year to bother you.

These aren't merely seasonal
linebreaks. Graphic
design works these leaves
in a tizzy.

The school bus windows fog
and the spit wads glow
as they tumble up the aisle
breaking the cleanliness barrier;

The fog of bus, like the fog of war
is so outsiders don't see the goings-on
Until the Wiki-Leaks school bus info. drop
Proffered 70,000 half-blacked out docs
Into hungry journalists' hands on this rainy day.

voter reassured temperature drop

my clam hands inside the streets are a pretentious mess
There is no good in betamax under 50 F

Slow production values and minimal facial recog.
drown the viewer in something like butter.

You were the Land O' Lakes Native American Spokesperson
that Halloween candy flew out of.

Darkened ghosts holding hot cocoa are freezing
the ground must be laid bare for their eternal costume to put its makeup on

When I put my customer into recognition databases, it shoots back
an old team member whose weather information we hardly remember

I remember an old man December the weather nearly froze his face off
I went dressed as an old man with a frozen face that Halloween.

fall, we barely knew
how these dancing slippers
fed the chimney, piped
up until the oatmeal