Was I sane?
Like poetry infiltrating,
when you were eating grass?
And money was walking free.

The hollow eyes
had the moral authority
to expunge the fidelity from the
book. Are the blue needles

hurting you, I was asking moon?
Moon’s stony eyes started
watering. Strangers in bed, the
trust had a different taste, another smell.

Words were loaded, they were
going to start beheading a tender song.