Burning Stone

someone begins running a growling lawnmower a word on the lip of imagination is chopped out of existence ears ring with dead bird song would i rather be happy then in this silent space of myself i would rather be a bat orbiting the moon than here and now wild and dangerous still as a stone these feral eyes are hunting an escaped moment the grass under my feet is being cut a word has long searched for my house but the house is burning today the windows are glaring i need an enemy to love