Rakeless moon.

"Of and Out"
All my stray thoughts,
they are unarranged
dripping through squares,
writhing about the floor
Bless their souls.

Crates that conjured shades
hunting for retribution
at being rent asunder.
Flying into my throat

Streaking down my arms.

Fending off nostalgia,

it cut me in half

Now there's nowhere

to put the "Had-To's"

So I didn't pack the throes.

Did I cover myself in neutrals,

as not to be noticed?

Did I block out the sunlight

with built-up boxes?

camouflaged out the flaws.

For I'd been
Emerson-thumping again--
night-sitting
museum-slipping
Caught in the atmosphere of leaving.

It's but those hefty ghosts
brutally engrossed,

Dashing amongst cartons

withering on the fall floor

Bless their souls.