Blind Man's Bluff

November roses
late bloomers
like me
my month as well
Scorpio
the tail that bites
the head that feeds it

blood red on the mantle
blood red and blind
to the cold
the years
the encroaching winter.

The mantle watches over my bed
the roses over my sleep
life
death
God
is in the garden
The Devil’s in my head.

Old habits don’t die hard
they don’t die.

We do.