backyard crowing
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me quiet
eight year old dream - i want to fill you in on it, to tell more.
here's a poem i wrote a couple of nights ago, after walking out my door and looking at our red moon:
The moon is red and thin tonight
A sliver in the sky
Hanging by invisible thread
The houses, just as high
If I sat upon their roof
I could touch its ruddy rouge
My fingertips treading the outline
A reflection of our star
A family yells in the distance
I wish I had never come out
But somehow their madness compels me
This nigh,
sigh
They lie,
Cry.
Why?
Why do they die?
Then they hear me and all goes quiet
Dead quiet
The kind of quiet that makes blood boil
Me quiet
Stopping but never-ending
Words sent cease
Yet ever rending
These people need mending (People needing careful mending?)
The garage light flickers
I live three houses away
Still they are audible
Furious, booming voices
Someone made wrong choices
Or so the other said
How appropriate that the moon shines crimson tonight,
A most spectacular hue
These combattants are the sun
Providing me such a view
- saturday, Jul. 01, 2006
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