Sunday, March 12, 2017

Nightcrawlers


Moonlight dripped wax,
cooled from distance,
now hardened in the corner
of my little eye.

It burns a bit.
It is soft light when I blink...

How grease is easily spread,
superficially diluted in various
concoctions and reeks with a tinge
of petroleum, oh hum-
or pouring out the midnight oil.

I've never smelt a rat alive,
a spiders nest freshly woven, maybe
even minerals misting with moon dust.

The moon always watching her back,
a spy in the sky
she sees it all coming her way.

Meteor-light, star dust,
it was just us, quiet enough.



Painting by Edvard Munch, Moonlight (1893) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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