The Boy Who Named The Moon

Casting waves of pure lore To line the yielding lips A heart of splinters like the crown of thorn Chasing the shade of an eclipse Shirt drawn open, pulling smoke Staggered to the racing strait Tilted head as he spoke Prose of prayer to the landscape Pleading to follow the saints Plunging to kneel like a ribbon to gravity Make him in canvass and paint Trace him in the chasm of apathy As the horizon peaks and pales He's dizzy with indigo fumes Abides home by the formidable trail And cursing the mirthless tune

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Written by

ddscott

American

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