pink paper moon
distant, distinct
and almost
never ending

sitting on the steps at one am
the sound of crickets is
a deafening and delightful chorus,
a notorious midnight symphony
of natural destruction
such a comforting contrast
to the morning bird songs
of elusive creation

at this hour
traffic swells
bending to the permissions
of pirates and thrill seekers
and
here come the road cats
a cast of uncertain creatures
marching in a hypnotic rhythm
of anarchic unity
up and down open ended alleys
and blessed with the illumination
of no purpose

we watched the clouds roll in
along avenues of deceit
playing cards with
unfamiliar super heroes
and drinking wine with the ghosts
of failed generations past

who is the caretaker now
who will take charge
now that all the leaders are dead?

the mailbox was full of old clothes
and covered with ice
we stood there naked and teeming
with unmet needs
daydreaming
about how to complete
this complicated quest

in the distance
i heard the cacophony of
undiscovered stars,
martyrs
in reservoir bars
preaching a lament
of old lover’s scars

it was a long walk
up the hill
with little rocks in our shoes
we paused, renting a hole
in the side of the road
and we wept for
villages of the dammed

we were promised a new beginning
one without women, wars, and weaknesses
but the life rafts
have all been cast overboard
and here we sit
waiting patiently
for this new destiny to arrive

it’s just another saturday night
as this spell casts a long shadow
in hopes of granting divine sight
under dim love candlelight
scanning dark horizons for a
stripped and distant satellite
as parasite hosts seek to reignite
literary limbs held still
by emotional frostbite

we, you, me, us
singular
the one
incomplete
bittersweet

sleep is a respite
i refuse to accept
and i know
tomorrow
will never be the same