The End Of August

Jon E. H. Burton
Aug 24, 2017 · 1 min read

cool air that breezes past
after the rain exhumes old
memories, buried behind boxes
in an attic that exists as sketches
in a head that forgot about art

beyond the thick silk cobwebs
that never caught a square meal
are melancholic fragments,
old sights crammed into every corner

to be blunt: there is nothing
quite as beautiful
as the end of August,
when the sun casts long shadows
for hours and the summer looseness
shakes itself off to make way for
sweaters and well fitted clothes

i dust off my bookbag to admire it.
there is no more institutional schedule
no long days in empty rooms,
a book between a desk and I
in a mexican showdown
where the losers are my eyes.
no.
i’m already out.

but that stops my nostalgia
like a fly could stop a speeding train.
the beautiful sentimentality
that the cool air brings
hits of excitement
like a speeding train
stopping a fly

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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Jon E. H. Burton

Written by

Author, poet, blogger, mountain climber. Living the process every day. Visit me at http://jonehburton.com/

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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