Cusp of September

On the cusp of September the ruckus really begins

by equinox three weeks later,

everything’s already died down

or settled in

to the next chapter of the seasons

of the book 

of the year

The shadows have consolidated into their blottiest ink

Summer given back into the hands of a seasonless and queer architecture

left coasting down and up hills

-seven sisters sigh

as the shuttle shuffles by

preening in its stopover

cavorting before heading south to fell the trees

the mouth of its passage

gaping

eating not money any longer, but wood.

Composed originally as a voice memo while walking around my neighborhood, which is hilly and on the border between rich white Noe Valley and gay white Castro (Eureka Valley), and one block from a main artery for traffic and now tech shuttle buses. 

Refers to the cultural and physical geography of the area, and the quality of light at autumn equinox.