In Diegesis

Look…

Moon.

I know Earth is probably your dad, and you’re probably my mom.
And everything else is me and God.
But I want to walk on you. I just want to hop and play all over you.
I know you’re probably mostly dead, all craterous and enslaved to gravity.
Still I want to hover so and descend in a dusted cavity.
Froomph.

Listen, Moon,
This cannot happen too soon.
At high noon I’m dreaming of you.
I’m not in love – I’m just American.
The human mind is troubled, which of course you didn’t know, but it is.
It’s all spread thin like the universe, atrophying.
Laughing, laughing, laughter means raftered ceilings.
My mind is troubled too of course but I’m not yet past your healing,
Om shanti disaster dealings, alone wanting after stealing stone, daunting masters reeling thrones haunting His last home feeling.

Moon…
Moon don’t speak!
Don’t you say a word.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 17th, 2012 at 4:19 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.