--I SAW ALL THE STARS THIS MORNING, AND THEY SAW ME

Mood Ring

The trees in your eyes have withered, lost their last leaves.  Even the termites are foraging elsewhere.  If you speak at all, the sounds kill themselves upon falling off the edge of your lips.  You play black music all day, watch acid rain drip from the gutter.  Once decadent, your windows and walls have forgotten how to reap.  The stuffed cat’s fur is coarse steel wool, rubbing up against the bloody stoop. Everything means what it doesn’t.  And still you sit rocking in a round corner, twisting your ring finger like a jar that’s not meant to open.