I slept in drunken happiness.
And arose in terror.
Their organs are hooked fish.
They tick tacked through the hall.
Rustle, rustle, swoosh, swoosh.
The tree whimpered and whined.
You must kill her said the tree.
Wah, wah, wah, wah.
A rat moves, I stand before her.
She screams, I scream.
It hasn’t hit her yet.
She is seeing her dead self.
The worst is yet to come.
She retreats, blanket shiver.
Just November in a dead land.
The Empire deep Inland.
My gland is in pain.
Then Massachusetts.
The woods are asleep.
The ocean colder than a witch.
Half-spell, half-demise.
It is summer…
The Season so far…
I can count the beads of sweat.
Lobsters in pots, corn hissing.
I walked off, the friend reading Henry James.
My harness to normal.
In the shade of the pine.
In the deep summer of winter.
I stared at the variegated beauty of bark.
And then he was in me.
You want it. Do you want it?
I did not open like a blossom.
He punched me.
A tooth loosened.
I could smell the deep-sea bed.
Lobsters eating sewage hammered open.
Just bugs…and I a terrible thing.
Lying dead on the pine needles.
And I went to sleep.
Drunken terror.