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.
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