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.
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.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Dick, but my favorite is "They taste with their feet the poisoned ground."
ReplyDeleteI like poems to end with their best lines.
Thanks so much! It's all Emily Dickinson's fault.
ReplyDeleteWithout question!
ReplyDeleteKeep reading Emily. Like it.
ReplyDelete