.moon man.
--sits
on the sill of his sanity
legs dangling
spittle from
two drunken mouths
falling
onto the heads
of his grandchildren
who walk the streets
below.
in a smoke~stained
purple.robe.,
he fiddles
to close the
top button
-- brass -- ,
the rest so silver.
he takes a d r a g
from a wooden
cigarette
and coughs up
shavings.
moon man misses mania.
moon man wants the sun,
a strangled yellow
bird
in his little hands, thrashing.
he wants
his passion back.
he wants
his gate -
- way,
dripping confetti,
singing
MOON MAN
HAPPY BIRTHDAY --
MOON MAN
JUST RELAX.
the saucer in the
sky screams:
slip sonny.
slip off the sill.
he doesn't. he
loves the
sour taste of
possibility not
unlocked
oh, too much.
so very too much.
it's his nectar.
his misery, his
wood shavings,
the splinters in
his throat;
it is what keeps
him a i r b o u n d,
makes him moon man,
hanging
heavy
hanging
high.
YOU ARE READING
These Hazy Days
PoetryA collection of poetry for the summer and autumn days. cover by me, on canva.com all rights reserved. ...
