In a manner of speaking, people were not who they appeared. The jack o’lanterns were grinning, grinning up and down the lane like an appreciative audience. Fire hydrant, said the dogs. Heaven-sent. Howl enough. Ribsy ribsy. Fortuitous leaves shade the sidewalks. Sinister furry things, winged bats velvet as night. They sing Kyrie Eleison, Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy. They are the sole souled things for miles. They cry in the night because they are unholy. Kitten teeth on a pumpkin, a Cyclops and a witch. Leaf tree redbud maple sycamore. The clouds over the trees were long and thin as tusks. We imagined Elysian fields way high in the sky. In the damp tree bark looks like snakeskin. The trunks are dark purple, nearly black. The philosophers didn’t know what to make of it but the poets did. Their thin white hands scrabbled frantic across pages and pages, rewriting Pound and making bitter reference to Minos and Europa. Holy One! Blackguard! Anne Bolyn and her ragtime crew. Mopsy, you called? I’ve been wanting to reread Small House of Uncle Tom. Simon Legree, grand master, all hail thee. You’re getting off work at 4:30 and the sun sets at 5.
You’re having fun but the radio is too loud for me. I can’t hear the words on the page in my head. Doctor Faustus, how many times will people write you?? Avuncular uncular, whither goest? Send me an apiary for my garden full of weeds, a trope for my tripe. Briana! Fly back to me! Iris! Alleviate my dulldom. Baby’s fussing in her crib, she won’t listen to my rhymes. My bones are buzzy from too little sleep. A diller a dollar, send me a holla.