Pulse pounding
smile and nod,
my ignorance slips past facade.
Of all the bees that bumbled slow, could it be I'm the first to go,
to blue skies too high
I must surmise
that electrocution works solely on the mad,
but I'm not mad enough to dry my hands
and evade the shock that I have planned
for myself, but no one else, sees the manic that I hold in my hands,
that I fold into plans written in paper and pen,
and I can't go through this again,
to stare at orange rinds, wishing not to see my eyes,
mealy sticky sweet, melting in the summer heat,
of stares that don't really care,
but I know they're there,
the glowing moons of owls
that see a mouse and not a bird,
but I have wings I have wings
I whisper all these louder things,
for I know that they're not true,
so I hope no one hears
the rustle of leaves that this fall brings.