- slighted pumpkin wallowing aloft -
has not faltered
through the morning distended
into an afternoon suspended
in thought
of crouching night's
encroaching
never so dull
a day
has pocked November's
skull
inverted largely over the horizon
but behind the blackening blind
of my sweet sarcophagus
grapes lounge
in candle twilight
while Schoenberg shrills
and books crawl
softly