Saturday, August 1, 2015

Full Buck Blue

That fucking moon
You can't see it but it is up there
Most likely

Gently held a tender pellet
between finger and thumb
Applied a bit of pressure
felt the whole thing crumble

How often do our screens go dark
How often do our mouths line up
Hair goes slack
Door slams shut
Temperatures drop

Swollen as a milk-filled tick
A sagging splotch, an ancient breast
a single snow-white drop

The interrupted current
Dripping air, rippling sand
The moon you tell yourself
you'll never see again

It will snap its strings and crush us beneath its grin
Or else turn its face away
to hide its expression

I need to see it one more time
Even though I know

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