You wouldn't know unless I told you
that I do not welcome autumn's fertility
with parades and twirling ribbons.
You wouldn't see the night's sadness
unless I showed you that the tree trunks
are cold and no one thinks to hug
a sunless, still, carved-out reminder.
You wouldn't hear my plans for the end
unless I chose to challenge silence and
share the images I replicate, how I'm able
to be drunk among day's recklessness
yet sober with sinister nights.
I'm sorry that I can't exclaim how I
want to run to you to escape my head.
