Cadavers

When I opened my mouth,
Cadavers came out.
They were quick to rip off
My veil of words, my shirt.
They promised I would get hurt.

Just one week ago
There was nothing to go on about.
Yet somehow they know
About my trips into the woods.
If only they understood.

They asked about the smell.
I said my only crime was that I drive fast.
That was when they gave me hell,
And told me to step out of the car.
The billowing sky cried a star.

My rough lips can no longer part,
I am innocent at last.
I tell you, it is truly an art:
To burn down a wet, crimson tomb,
Where even winter can bloom.