Excerpt #8

White clouds race across the moon’s silver circle of illumination. Is that as far as the moon can see? You wonder this while faking innocence trying to make poetry and boyish wonder out of this mess. What you sought so obsessively was no relief. The darkness is deep right here on the corner, a wall of shrubs, a pocket knife, headlights insert condemning fingers of judgment – threaten you with exposure. You refuse the offering- an offering of refuse - tempered with a sort of kindness. The moon is full, you feel it – disarray. Its light doesn’t reach you, but the darkness does, and it sucks you in, a slow rhythm leading only to sickness and regret.