so i was talking to the moon

so i was standing there
with my bags
waiting for the bus
the street lay desolate
like an inert pendulum
in silent protest
of the penitent hum
of faithful tires kissing the asphalt
in their religious march
towards the miracle city

so i started thinking
about other options
what if i drop the bags
lose the stuff
and start walking
or running
from them
from it
from her
into the wild
on my own
but not to her
or from her
or with her
just me
light swift free
with the one luminary orb
gazing on the street
shining on my path
as if to say
don’t look back
don’t look back
for us there is only
light and dark
white and black
we are rumors
until another more radiant star
cast his light
upon our world
then and only then
can we see ourselves
or him
or anything as it is
the future
the past
and everything after the fall
is empty form
to be colored in later
as the fingers of the dawn
rise and stretch
spilling the violence
of infinite hope
upon our hearts

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2 thoughts on “so i was talking to the moon

  1. Another beautiful piece…Is “so” necessary at the start? I call this a “fatty”, a very full piece, unhurried and filled with
    amazing and deep thought. I stole that term from a wonderful poet who can write his heart out. Here:

    spilling the violence
    of infinite hope
    upon our hearts

    breathtaking.

    1. i like so because it gives it this conversational somewhat disarming feel as you climb on in- thanks for the “fatty” designation- that’s dope

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