Saturday, January 21, 2012

Moon


Like a sickle of ice
glowing in the night sky

it just
pierces the black canvas
draped across my body,
my life.

Full moons are adored,
written about,
sung to,
sighed to,
and asked questions to.

I prefer the lasting
crescent
to the bloated moon
sleeked with gluttonous grease.

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