Tuesday, September 9, 2014

another fucking poem about the moon.

Someone told me
a halo around the moon is
a bad omen.

Tonight,
and every night,
if there is a moon,
there is a halo.
It's pollution.

And the sighs
of pleasure or pain
or even ecstasy
are laughed into
the smog --
even if there is
no laughing...
or no moon nor omen at all.

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