A Cargo of Green Hearts
November deranges me but by December
I am ready to really die
not just ram my face through a window
it’s a transition, a kind of
lycanthropy how madness reaches out to exhaustion and
exhaustion to silence
and silence with its old man’s face
opens the door to the garden
on the south side of the house
that the talkers and thinkers can’t find.
there is a key, and that
key is the moon and whatever
it does to you to get you to open your mouth
and spit out the hornets.
Fall is a good time for it.
the shadows put their burly
shoulders to the wheel.
time to fire the lawyers and stop pretending:
you can’t avoid the charge of insanity
if your goal is to cut off your head
and place it beneath your feet.
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