Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room.                So how should I presume?   (from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock)    Because We Were Girls Together (a golden shovel)   …

Said, softly   October crushes down, squeezing the juice of summer and all the faces are new fresh new Mouths fallen heaps of gloss and lips  Sit. Sleep.  October crushes, and leaves curl on asphalt like fingers.    The leaves hurt, and the new new fresh new faces. The air stings pleasantly, like mint, like…