Prompt: Autumnal. Write an experimental/concrete form poem.
Author's note: this was written on a landscape Word document and is designed to be read down then up, so the shape/poem here is completely different online than on paper/Word. But I feel like putting it here for prosperity's sake. Perhaps, though, as we were getting metaphysical, the mere presence of the words on paper will tell you what the poem is supposed to say.
Crisp underfoot like broken paper – Like broken paper, crisp and winter-torn.
Rasps, snaps, and tears tries, frays, and cuts.
Again, as the world turns towards a bitter tongue. Then it dares to cover our eyes. It
Like ice, my foot-trail is a hazard, a path that dares not frost – and a moment that has lasted longer, but only last week.
Reveal its glory until I am beyond any crunching of evidence. Where I once trekked. So all remaining is a plateau of
Never halting (unless one faces the Cry “Autumn at its worst”, yet embellish
disturbed) I am left with a vortex of temperature With the leaves. I see them curl behind me,