From the depths of red dust, the unflappable moon carves it's place into the sky. The red sun sets as a sea of bright faces swallow the world whole, just for the night, making no claim to the hallowed earth. Holding it. It's memories in orbit.
Names pile up year after year of the people I have known. What once was definite now seems empty on the outside, empty on the inside, now living somewhere on the edge of space where music begins.
I Hammer hard on the doors of sleep and beg to get in. I dream of sailing into the moons light where logic suddenly becomes a mere ghost. Plunging headfirst into a blanket where a voice, meant to be my own, delivers a message from the past, built of smoke.
In this land of no sleep all thoughts sink below reach. Laughter falls like tears; memories come together like a transit map, the framework of the past, the present, and the future.
Death to the wind. No time to lose. An explosion of colours, the ground wild with jewels. The moon limps away in a stained sky, trees flutter, all dressed to kill.
A disappearance encourages love. Intolerable thoughts, thieves in the night, this side of life. Old as a scorpion, the world gone belly up. I watched it sail away into the night sky and return with a new name.
There you are, gone and the same. Today the white flag isn't high enough. Building is the weapon of choice. The thinking behind it prevents us from ending. Hoist up the moon and watch the big fresh face in the sky thaw it out at night.
Why do you and your memory make a habitat together? The vast space between the floors, the distant space between the years screaming in freedom to leave. Screaming in freedom to stay. The questioning of love is not to condemn it. It's to see through all the smoke, to let your fears sail away into the night sky letting your soul thaw out.
