Moody Affairs with the Country side

Fantastic blues and everything is still ruined
I spend my mornings grumbling at ghosts
whilst Viciously picking up distress signals from my neighbors barn
What has it seen?
Does it know something I don’t?
Does moonlight skip within its corridors when no ones around?
I myself am still sick with moonlight
Wild birds as reckless as me in my morning stupor
Wild birds and she’s still picking flowers
Approaching goldenrod with caution
Avoiding the hanging of cloths in the frail breeze
Her Black hair gracing me in the sunlit afternoon
As the sky develops in cloud bursts
and the country side needs her reflection more than I
For I’ve been climbing trees looking for silhouettes for days
God given wits about me
howling while floating above Bur Oaks in the evening
Why cant the trees auburn colors be perpetual?
Why must I rely only on smoke signals to contact friends in cities?
Friends whose expressions preserved the still Kansas plains in me
Friends whose combines churned my endless doldrums into dust
Causing midnight itself to groan
Fantastic Bluesand im finding myself worshiping arachnids more often
Painstakingly praying to Genes in hollows
Absently Staring at light in windows
Windows of the seven houses im afraid of
houses whose invitations were shattering
now nestled between river bluffs and hills
Built by the nameless forsaken by the thoughtless
Must one only be concerned with Ghosts and birds in past lives?
Must one concern themselves with other things?
I will continue to Concern myself with the houses im afraid of
Or even the ships on my fathers wall
Stranded but graceful
stationary
but there