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it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.

this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.

and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
In brief description is an illusion,
Everything floats.
Moonshine Noire Sep 2017
premonitions and

impending gloom hanging high

over our bowed heads
Moonshine Noire Sep 2017
solar-flare pokes out

a quick glare in the ether

plasma uncontrolled
Moonshine Noire Jul 2017
evil taints your soul

but blossoms charcoal and red

out-run fairies green
Moonshine Noire Jul 2017
...

RETCH, you wretch

societal standards so low

read the book and ***** about it

don't devour the preacher

their laws don't matter here

all you need is your privilege

lock the door on morals

your love is immoral mine is

my God-given right and

don't pry on my twisted perversions

I am under God's grace

waving my banner of exclusion

and giving you hell for your life decisions

if my own show any honesty

then burn me at the cleansing pyre

lest my soul be purified of sin

don't tear away my mask of honour

plastic and lies wrought it for me

for millions of lives I bought it

my ancestors colonized the world

for I am superior and you are a bane

here to serve me then wither away

dare argue, heretic, degenerate

we'll beat, batter and bruise your body

and dispose of you in a fashionable way

or simply send you to rot as a warning

to other delinquents who may resist or

revolt against our holy reign

which life deems poisonous and wrong

but you'll see it's right in the end

when all that's left is soot and rubble

I'll rise a dead, cursed man, but I'll rise in a

coffin world buried to never be retrieved.

above, stars finally splutter in supernova

glad to turn away from the tyranny,

phlegm, and bile that is man
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