October's the month for storage. I am at home here among the dead heads. Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium. If only the wind would leave my lungs alone.
Dogsbody noses the petals.
They bloom upside down. They rattle like hydrangea bushes. Inmates who don't hibernate. A dressing of mule ears, mothy pelts, but green-hearted, Their veins white as porkfat. The orange pumpkins have no eyes.