Twining the still-deep-green oak, Boston ivy first bleeds crimson, tipping the season. News scatters like autumn leaves, polling shows nearly forty percent await doomsday.
Thirty-nine presidents make a conflagration when the likes of Bonnie and Clyde feed the flames. Apostles flared into twelve colossal tapers dripping over a
Evening time sirens chime & recede somewhere in the city & fires elsewhere request attention & dozing on your daybed I can only imagine