Poetry Archives Bio
September 7, 2017
1:35 PM
passing

the rocks are far today
it is high tide
the moon will be revealed

suffering is finite
so my eyes are as dry as bone
when my namesake begs

to turn off the microwave
as he pantomimes spooning soup
that isn't there

when I call the hospital
the yellow moon
is shrouded in a veil

and when they answer
it is clear and bright
and beautiful

during the day
the sun is an angry
red ball of fire

at night
there is no moon
only smoke