Autumn's here.

Autumn's here.
Her arrival announced by the drumming of acorns against the roof,
Against the pavement and cars.
But their music does not stop,
Merely changes its tune underfoot as I walk over them.
Groaning.
Crunching.
Popping.
An uneven, rhythmless song

Fuck Chance

Serendipity whispers to me extravagant things to say,
grandiose proclamations
of Love and gospels of Nature.
Pretty little falsehoods wrapped in
glittering foil to hide Truth:
I am a liar.
and so is Chance- there's no such thing.
All luck is what you make up for yourself,
and Chance is just the invention of cowards.