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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.
Moonshine Noire Apr 2018
Which way is South? Around me is an echo of rodents scuttling across stone floors. Orange blossoms invade my senses. The sun is dying, spilling red all over the sky. There is no West, there is no East. There's only a never-ending dusk. Dewy palms (Phoenix dactylifera?) stroke my bare arms as I walk onward towards the gaping chaos.  My feet sink into sand on occasion, glinting furiously in the glare.

(i) I stand on mosaic floors stretching to the beach. The beach strewn with wreckage from battles against men and gales. Sea-gods stare from their crashing coves, clashing among their own. Their disputes fatal and unfair. The lawyers stand between them, gold slipping between their fingers (piles and piles of it). A smoky haze wears me out, a torched Laurus nobilis once stood tall now a phantom crisp. I see a bird fall from fatigue or torched wings. It spirals and vanishes in the snarl.

(ii) Olive branches teeter in the howling god's grasp. I cannot see through the whipping strands of hair, stinging my raw skin. My eyes water, saltier than sea breeze. I hear my name screamed on the wind. From this land or across the sea, there is no way to know. The air is permeated with cries of despair and curses to my name. I've reached a shore devoid of hope. Tonight there is but one flaw, and it is that of the entitled, claiming what was never theirs. They are the villains. But I am to blame.

(iii) The red woman rises in the storm. I glance at her and we exchange a nod. A mutual understanding passes in that ember glance. We watch as drowning men fight against their fate. We close our eyes to burning men as they wail to a louder god.

(iv) Thunder and lightning kiss jasmine flowers. Juniperus communis vanishes from sight. Vegetation spits out into nymphaea caerulea. I see my way clearly now. Away from the sea. I transpire as the air thickens and moisture is ****** out. The blazes simmer as the smokes darken. Darker than night, darker than sin, darker than Egypt.

(v) Flames burn ships on the Mediterranean tonight. Fire gods exhaust their powers on mere mortals. I turn and follow the ancient paths, in search of fresher waters. This winding snake spilling into the sea must lead to calmer roars.

(vi) Helen has escaped them all. Warmongering men, warmongering gods, flaming ships, drowning chaos, and dashed hope... The desert beckons her now.
NaPoWriMo
In brief description is an illusion,
Everything floats.
Moonshine Noire Sep 2017
air latches itself around my neck

I untangle it with a whoosh!

temperature drops--

                                            --she closes in

water engulfs my lungs

I swim in it -- perfect breaststroke

she breathes and hydrangeas bloom

lily-pads at her toes tender steps

thorns burst at her breast as it heaves

I tread on concrete and asphalt

cancerous urbanization residue

you're otherworldly and othertimely

we don't see eye to eye and it burns

you're a bonfire and I'm your Guy

toast me, roast me at your pyre

pagan altar to a goddess

you know every star personally

pointing out constellations that owed you

a kiss post-twilight

and I owe you nothing but devotion

you wore your crown ironically

and your rhinestones predominantly

I cough and splutter in smog-infused storms

and again you send air rushing

to my desperately detached lungs

and water to grow jasmines and lilacs

in my sooty, licorice soul

when day met night, they danced

when I met you, our eyes waged war

and we fell silent forever

awkwardly asymmetrical tilted on an axis

gravity fields clashing and pushing apart

distanced and alienated,

I gazed at brave weeds which peeked

and struggled through tarmac

gravitating towards the urban densities

and polluted pavements

like you once did, daring the darkness

where bound souls drag their heals

unable to see what you can see--

--trees, and valleys,

                                         and crevasses of starshine in the inky sky
Moonshine Noire Sep 2017
I see you but you don't see me

At least not the way my eyes

Melt into yours,

Yours remain friendly and

         --well they're gorgeous

Your eyes, I mean

And the rest of you too of course

Don't get me wrong,

I never intended to start this conversation

But now that I'm rolling I'll get on with it

Because if friendship is what I stand to lose

Then I'd rather be friendless than quiet

beyond sense and reason

when I can barely breathe anymore

around you

      -- that's hardly friendship!

Forgive me my bluntness but hey,

You love me for it

At least I hoped you would,

You talk so so little and I'm drowning

in my own words and indignations

I'll harden my heart and wrap it in cellophane

if you don't speak up.

Just a word or two...

You're so silent but I know

         --your mind is drunk on vision

and vivacious colour and vibrant life.

So very unlike mine

with its monochromatic views

and topsy-turvy moods

You're chill as breeze

and your eyes are

         -- well they're like molten hazelnut

Is your chin dimpled?

I believe it is,

       --I've nearly forgotten your features

Your face is so hazy in my mind

I should have gazed a moment longer

But I knew you never understood

My peculiar looks

and prolonged eye contact.



It has been a while and I'm crooked,

Elbow-bent and frail-faced

Little remains and, I swear,

I go uglier by the moment

Distance is eating me out

Your silence holds

I suppose that means you're truly

as cold-blooded as your pet

Or I should move on

Because a rainbow can't appear

When it's only gloomy out

My rainclouds will empty

their heavy eyes elsewhere.
Moonshine Noire Sep 2017
premonitions and

impending gloom hanging high

over our bowed heads
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