"The Autumn Magician"

"The Autumn Magician"
written somewhere between springtime and insomnia by jake kilroy.

Dearest magician, when will the autumn wind come? I have many questions for the gods that will pose as the only one come a Halloween storm. Surely you've tasted the salt of summer skin, only to spit it up after drinking too much rum on a winter's frosty bed.

I can't remember what my last lover's mouth tasted like, so I will assume it was like spring air, something thin and perfect. Every good lover's mouth tastes like a childhood candy from a holiday you only barely remember anyway.

Every sleepless night is from too many memories or too little to count. What shall we play on the projector? Home movies? Snuff films? What will make you feel worse?

Oh, the accidents of autumn, the paralyzing kisses of breakneak winter giggles, so lustfully quiet and begging to be warmed into a polite fire. Come the new year, we will have no reasons for magic. Yes, it must be frustrating to walk tightropes, but if you're not risking a fall to earth, then you're allowing yourself to walk the world forever.

Can you stand that? Don't think of your nice jackets. Don't think of your fun mixtapes. Don't think of your lovely words that you drop like spare change on lovers that aren't worth your time. Buy them all the goods and treat them bad. Let them know the worse of it all. Let them wallow in memories and delirium.

And drink rum. Drink rum until you can't taste your food. Let your cheekbones burn like rust. Let time age you like dried fruit. Let your stomach ache until all that can sustain you is laughter.

But don't ever forget the changing leaves that are coming, even as your summers grow shorter and you have less time to swim. Even as you give up skateboarding and bike rides, remember that your summer nights aren't the best worst sting to your heart. Remember that there is a season that makes you feel magnificently indifferent and spectacular in ways you didn't know your soul was awake enough to rattle on about. There is some spooky winds coming and it isn't always the right time to stay in bed for those crashing evenings. Well, if you do stay in bed, be sure to invite someone over. Spend the weekend there. Don't say much. Wait until winter to grow cold and hold out until spring to talk.

Finally, think of carnivals. And remember the sinking feelings you've had from heartache and roller coasters before allowing them to dissolve in a liquid you didn't ever really consider blood. It was thinner, closer to red wine, though hardly drinkable.

Got it? Good.

Then you may now write your poem about magic and abandon childhood.