Stepping Inside of November

Razzle dazzle,

little plugged-in sun, honeycomb dayglow:

             Don’t you know I love you

like aspirin? Vous supplément

pour Dieu, like everything else we invent

to make bearable

                          what we’ve been left with:

Disgrace: The hillside in its slush clothes

needs a little lipstick. Wouldn’t we all feel better

                          if scientists decorated the sky

in golden bows and champagne?

             So you don’t really like gold

or fizz, more of a silver and scotch gal. I hear you,

                          but imagine you are someone

who likes the right things. Cellophane-wrapped candies

and ten shades of mauve nail polish. All of this

             joy can be yours for the simple price

of getting the fuck over yourself. Now try

                          a little fondness. Knit

a soft blue scarf, enjoy the tiny loops, effort

             for warmth and style. Call it Helios.

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