Instead of NaNo

My Nano writing is stalled. This is what I wrote this morning instead. It's still a work in progress.

The Write Land

November is the cruelest month, breeding
Writing out of the moribund mind, mixing
Memory and frustration, stirring
Dull minds with falling rain.
Summer kept us hot, sweating
Earth in heartless sun, feeding
Our lives with fresh veggies.
Autumn surprised us, coming over the Rocky Mountains.
When it snowed, we ducked into the gas station
When it stopped, we went on to the coffee shop
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
I am not gay, I am metrosexual; well, there was this boy once.
When we were young, living in the college dorm
We wrote poetry late into the night
Reading it in cellars to bongo drums
And telling each other we would be famous.
In a cellar, there is no place to go but up.
Now I read past midnight, and drowse in my cube.