January 28, 2002

  • O my culture—why?
    so insipid, so dry
    so denying of the splendid visions that have reverberated
    through me
    allowing me to see, to see…


    when I go where I do go
    my left hand falls asleep
    for it doesn’t believe
    and cannot follow true
    cannot break the rules…


    I stare at Moon.
    I swear upon the Moon.
    (O swear not by the moon, th'inconstant moon/ That monthly changes in her circled orb/ Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.)
    o contraire!  that it constant be:
    all my life with its same face always facing me.
    it’s merely variable in not remaining full, you see.


    but of the far side I dream
    the more savaged, thicker skinned region
    forever earth-shy as if…
    the earth and it collided—ka-boom—
    and it decided
    never to face the earth again.


    then…what is it we see?
    the moon’s face glowing or its moon mooning?
    if the moon’s hiding its face,
    is the Sea of Tranquility its blithering ass?
    thank god(dess) then that it is so tranquil
    and atmosphereless:
    that it doesn’t emit gas.


    but whether face or goon,
    the moon still presents
    the same since all our births.
    as if to tell us “nothing changes,” and
    “what you see is all you’ll ever get.”
    yet, is there not a great assurance in that?
    your spouse can leave you, your dog can hate you,
    but go out and gaze skyward
    and you’ll never find surprise
    in the moon’s fixated guise.


    Except when the moon, full,  hits the horizon
    and a mammoth behemoth it becomes
    and makes our scientists dumb
    because they can’t yet explain
    why the moon’s apparent size ain’t no longer the same
    but HUGE



    …and we moonwalk and prance
    down our path so entranced
    cause we're looming and larger
    than life.

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