Hungry Moon
a bat is a cursed fly,
shriveled of cherub,
mene mene scrawled
on a tenebrous wall.
songbirds are long gone flirts,
no longer to titillate
every star in the body of night
with their sweet arpeggios.
sunset, always the same,
the same cheshire cat,
a languor of fire on spent horizons,
owls and loons
so lean and haunted,
the cryful crickets
more boney than plump--
the moon, so hungry,
yearns and yearns
from its tantalized perch,
craving a new kind of chirr,
a fandango, maybe,
where the dancers
see each other twirl.
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8/26 horrific poem ...
10/31/23 ... Lots of mods... still not much confidence.
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