Cold October.
I stand totem-silent in a field of first frost,
The stave crows crack and flutter on wires up above.
I don't need a Bible to teach me not to lie.
Lies fold and fester,
indigestion of the conscience.
Guilt is the greatest denier -
It denies you the breath in your lungs,
your sleep,
your reflection.
I delve into music and books for small truths and beauties -
Peel and scrape away at ink,
At crotchets and chords,
The rhythms and regiments.
I find nothing but sawdust;
I can't breathe in this skin.
No sleep this autumn.
I broke her heart and now my nose is bleeding.
Take me away
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