Songs of the Moon

From the Milky Way’s canvass swerving like red wine in glass dancing to the midnight blues traversing the utopian realm of one awed by universes architectural arcs Flip-flap swings across its axis. delivering spasms to the feeding eyes yawning for a closer gaze with an Oliver twist, I need more heart racing, mind panting skin sweating, hungerily awaiting the night ball at noon’s court It is mine; it is ours. an artful slither of a thought If breakfast were served later let’s eat dinner early. for the strength of yesterday’s meal withstand tomorrow’s pain. fruitful hope and menacing desire kills a man before his time But hell is hell. Even if today's right is lost in tomorrow’s storm His demise, A beginning of another’s.