Monstrous that the moon should rise tonight,
bulge-headed, throwing
shadows without scale or increment:
in its light that a benighted traveler ant
should cross pools of gleaming motor oil,
his legs ticking
in an abominable
hail of photons –
even worse. What tyrant god
allows this home-wrecking,
this scouring floodlight, this bleaching breach
of peace? The Queen of Night is nailed up
by a few faint lyrical stars, helpless,
while the bloat of the moon
drifts through her kingdom:
day-creatures stutter on their shadows,
their eye-buds breathe in phosphor,
they taste
with their feet
the poisoned ground.
5 comments:
So many fine phrases and lines here, Dale (after that great title) - 'throwing / shadows without scale or increment', 'an abominable / hail of photons', 'a few faint lyrical stars', 'their eye-buds breathe in phosphor'. Oh, the whole thing! Love it.
I agree with Dick, but my favorite is "They taste with their feet the poisoned ground."
I like poems to end with their best lines.
Thanks so much! It's all Emily Dickinson's fault.
Without question!
Keep reading Emily. Like it.
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