DETECTION OF DERELICTION

Ghastly sky rumbles and roars.

Then comes swoosh and whoosh,

With constant pit-a-pats.

                                              Echoes jump from here to there,

In the secluded room,

Full of tick and tacks.

The calendar gets cut in half under sharp gaze.

I burn the cobweb covering my poetry phase

With the groovy, rusty lighter.

It is fall, so it is mightier.

Experimental, highly jittery.

Freefall is scary.

Waves are high again, ready to swallow whole.

It is the season.

It is me.

It is you.

Or not at all!