Why sestinas, even incomplete ones, should not be written in fifteen minutes or less.

Poorly planned and unedited poetry spam/babble/free thought, get it while it's hot.
--

The trees put on their festive garb
to hide the way they fester in the cold,
And acorns launch at suicide speeds
to pelt scarf-wrapped pedestrians.
They litter the ground, their pulverized
remains subject to the autopsies of squirrels.
This is Autumn, the time of dying and denial
and change.

----
It's that time again, when the wind breaks
cold over treetops that have begun to change
into new colors, putting on their bright autumn
fashions, trying out the latest perfume scents:
Eau de Morte Arboris or something like that
Maybe it's me; I don't know how the trees can be so

Cheeful at a time like this. Everything feels so
blank and bleak and brittle; everything breaks
at the slightest provocation. I think that
we should try fixing things for a change,
but thoughts like those are just nonsense.
Nothing really matters when you're drowning in autum.

Which isn't to say that I don't like autumn;
as seasons go, I like it just fine. So
maybe I think the dead-leaves-and-rot incense
smell is cloying; them's the breaks,
as they say. The world won't change
for me, and I can appreciate things that

hold to their convictions. I just wish that
that there were something more to autumn
than death and monumental, world-shaking change.
Or maybe something less- this season doesn't need so
much drama. Don't you think? Heart breaks
are bad enough on their own, without this sense

of soul crushing solemnity, this heavy sense
of slowing time. There are Greek tragedies that
feel more upbeat. This is the season that breaks
the camels back, so to speak. This is autumn:
season of rain, season of blood. Why are we so
enamored of this misery? Any attempts at chage

are met with further misery. We cannot change
the falling of the leaves, nor the dark scent
of rot that pervades the air. These things are so
beyond us, we might as well give up. That's
the way it goes- time to surrender. Autumn
stands victorious, and we are simply broken.