let us believe in the ruined
gardens of imagination
even in autumn rain
there’s still such radiance
leaves underfoot whisper
my wishbone song
really just a rhythm imposed
on the slow fires of decay
but now church bells
make for a glistening listen
the dead have nothing
and everything to do
with the emptiness
of numbers
their carnival is upon us
scarlet oaks glowing
on a mountainside
of charred pine stumps
witch hazels dangling
sun-colored sex flags
and a woodpecker sounding
like a clown on amphetamines
my phone can find
the bleakest news in seconds
a shaggy mane mushroom
dissolves into ink