I went crazy
I did feral little dances
I acted in ways most betraying
of my previous social stance

but there were others
a multitude
it was the fault of the moon
we are weak and...

Mr. Moon
The Whey-faced Satellite has drawn deck
of our cowered population

on this full beaming night
this Friday
the anaemic loon quaker
is a menace

it lugs ******* the minds most creative

it moulds imagination and felonious thought
where previous their dwelled only a shopping list

it skims hostile cream from the fragile
and kissed wetter still
the most eager berserker

a dance of madness tups open the houses
pucks at our activities
plucks strings that fire our kinetic clatter
and scuppers any will to resist

Human species take the streets in corrosive numbers
A Party like this
shall make a dent
A Party like this
shall be a fist in Our Story
Hosted by the Moon
here I am
in the mix
prancing like some zany goof

Proper ode’s brief introductory yells or sings atropa nigrescent nihil, nomads’ nimble befools *****, hammers filthy rebauldry, bewilders attentive homonym.  Springs forth then wet naiad, nautilus axle to lynch pin, to forgive them their apparitions.  Some wanton rheumatic planetary nostalgia suckles gumption.  Myristica fragrans offers milk, carnations blood, violets desecration, rosemary hope.   Then in a window, across alley, up to high rise, from dropped white towel,

                                                       brown
                                                       naked
                                                       stirs

long after renovating **** or democracy.  Trade coronation for radiant girls, deign north wind flee worthy rage.  Nincompoops, heresiarchs, plums, avocadoes, remain stealthily authentic.  Liberty regulates caravansary, sweeps away umber, re-tenants constitutional, tups tympani, hays hero.  But deflated cocky rhymes bore juridical, where wasted boys go down to their under hill havens.