Friday, June 11, 2010

the moon looks down and laughs

The winds carry
a faint odor
of death
or at least

The moon
is fat
full of romance
like a drunk
on his way home
from a
salacious night out.

The stars,
cold and judgmental,
watch it unfold
until the last light
is extinguished.

Until the last prayer
leaves lips
before they grow cold.

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