rob sward and the dead dog song

A LETTER TO HIS PSYCHIATRIST

DEAR GEORGE-There was this sound. It was leaves.
It was outside the windows, outside
The house I live in, the house that is
Inside two other houses. And leaves.
It was just leaves. And the wind was leaves.
And there was the sound
    . . . someplace in it
There was silence. Something that can kill you.
Worse than kill you. Make you into leaves.
Leaves in the leaves. Wind. Or the thing _fear_
Must always want, when there is nothing.
-I kept hearing it, the leaves against
Themselves. And the houses empty. Myself
And the sound. And my gun.-I went out,
Then, and shot the leaves. The trees. The wind.
I shot the wind, it was almost flesh,
It was leaves. It fell down on the lawn,
The uncut lawn. I shot it again.
And put it in my pocket. And walked
In the trees. And shot moths. And fireflies.
And my shadow, in the moonlight. Leaves . . .

I stumbled upon this poem after looking for lyrics to O.R.'s Dead Dog Song on songmeanings.com. I love that O.R. fans would think that Sheff had this song in mind when writing the song. As another commented pointed out the song is about Sheff actual dead dog. Either way, I am happy I stumbled onto this poem and (Chicago!) poet.