I can see your skin in every pane, as a sheet of candied paper reciting poems from a sandy dream
The moon is out eating clouds,
and is writhing in blood-smelling peat,
gnawing at your sleepy feet,
I get to eat the earth and cry again
April, May, June, and the lantern moon
and one day, outside, the clotheslines and orchids will grow and tickle May awake,
I just feel it,
and break from want, from Hell