Please Excuse My Absence From Myself

Reality, what a symptom of withdrawl.
Rain fire. Run wolf. Poison pill.
Rock, paper, scissors, a slash of words.
Rake the crippled flowers
From the ice-glazed yard.
The haunt of this house
Is lifting its fingers.
Seven bats
Were just a confusion of crows.
Nothing is exactly as it seems.
Nor is it the broken tooth
Of a vampire’s dream.