Aleatory Accumulation Anti/Ghazals II-III, II-IV

the past is a myth dreamed up by the present to account for itself
 
this way leads to death
“it used to be called The Barn”
 
language is a blunt instrument in my hands
that place of utter helplessness before your misery
 
that dog is a purebred swinehound
clean up that mess that just gets made a mess again
 
row of lawnmowers covered in snow
my hair is the hair of a 70s Dutch painter
 
I’ve been too quick to declare my allegiances
awoken by a skeletal