Vermillion leaves outside
burn against the cold blue sky.
I pour a drink and keep inside,
concentrate on staying high,
and I guess I'll booze and sleep
the whole gaudy month—
as things go to seed,
I'll sink and steep.
Outside I see, dark flapping wings.
of croaking city crows
sailing down the street,
perching in powerline rows:
their atterimages repeat
inside my boozy mind
after I pull the blind.
—Philip Miller
Philip Miller has poems forthcoming in Iota, Home Planet News, and Poetry Wales. His new book, The Casablanca Fan, is due this year. He recently co-edited (with Gloria Vando) the anthology Chance of a Ghost.
October Steeping
