Lunar Madness

White moon, Riding on the shoulders of a colored rain cloud, admiring her reflections in a crystal stream, which fell asleep while visiting dreams of fishes dancing to the deep voice of a bass drum. The darkness creeps in on its belly, and draped a mantle over Tennessee’s head. The white moon, now naked, smiles with a soft glow that mirrors in the vacant stares of the houses next door. Sad these houses appear. Lips slowly drain the evidence of a crescent moon from a tall glass of whiskey, then the voices arrive, hitchhiking on the twilight’s breath, while attempting to balance feminine energies on spirituality’s deception. Minds follow Luna Blanca, a lesser light, through the snares of the dark, but the shadows grip ankles inside the faded light.