November moan.

It’s ten in the evening

The tenth of November

I’m warming my feet

By the fast-fading embers

The window is frosted

The garden is dusted

With snowflakes

And moonlight

And yesterday’s Cornflakes

And Wendy

The owl

Has a mouse

In her claws

She tears it apart

With her beak and her jaws

Then

The stars fall

Down from their perches on high

The Queen thinks that maybe she’ll die

If midnight takes over the sky

- Might she pay us to cry?

You’re reading a volume

Of whimsical nonsense

You think that you’re clever

You laud your own essence

Weeds bloom when you smile at them

Fade when you pee on them

Raise a cracked glass to them

Stop them from fidgeting

Then Stella

Comes up

From her dark

Lonely grave

She says you were never

You were always her slave

- Were you ever that brave?