A Moon Sickness

And the day becomes chimerical �"

dusk arrives with the snap of a guitar string,

the quick sting of light draining away and with it

 

All hysterical stabs at telling gods’ tales

with the dog bones and stew meat

molding away in front of our eyes.

 

Pieces of frayed rope, charred

            and splitting, crumbling and falling away

            in favor of the moon’s ascent on her throne,

 

Encrusted with pearls and diamonds, her light

            a lit match underneath the thrifty teeth

and lacquered eyeballs dispensed by the sun.

 

How lonely and greedy this heart must be,

never sharing the blue-black embers

of days the midnight oil burns away.

 

Everything blackens, and beautiful are the moon fires

that are fool’s gold, sickly yellow smiles

that fizzle and leave ashes behind,

 

And o my God, the fall, the hands searching to find

a shoulder or muzzle to grab and demand

          “Wake up, wake up, why can’t you feel these flames?”

 

The thing that rages in great brown fields

            in exultant praise of the queen’s burning hands,

staining its name on heaven’s walls in smoke,

           

Rising through the air, twisting like a snake,

            incinerating the electric blue buzz of the world

            is me, and only me, and will only ever be me.

Author's Note

How well do you emotionally connect with the material?
Is it too abstract in its emotional appeal/images?
Does the rhythm work for or against the poem in total?

Reviews

[Elaine]

Big fan. Maybe a tad too abstract but I wouldn't think of changing it.