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Give Back the Moon


by Darryl Price



 

to us! Without it we are less than human and cannot guarantee your safe passage through our woods 

any more. Give us back the moon. It is the primary element in the 

makeup of our deepest breaths taken to invoke all cycles to continue. It contains the evening's metaphysical argument, like the pumping thumping hopes jumping 

in a jugular vein. It transcends with a certain amount of feverish glow the

spanning days we put into our tangled up lives. Give the moon back to us, 

please. She has been always our favorite dreaming stone. Following her gaze we are completely ready 


to be awakened. You can hear us sliding open. We are beginning to use the 

better paper of our nature. She's the better paper of our nature. We cannot live without our

moon, our seedling. She is my landlocked camera! Give us back the moon at once! Do you hear? 

This is something so crazy,so ordinary and indispensable between all of us under the sky and in

the one mind's eye. One could live on this exact sugary plain like a pretty tender 


loud whack of a deeply felt wave of green ocean for a long, long time 

to come. Give back the loving moon to us. It's that simple. Nobody gets 

hurt then or now. We live reading the moon, so as to be in some way fortified. 

The necessary moon is always at the beginning of any burst of paradise confronting laughter. I 

went outside. She was gone. I wanted to cry. Return her to us immediately I beg you!  

We are deprived of all romantic potential without her. The moon is our faintest, prettiest

smile 


altogether, friendlier and warmer than any star slipping off into the farthest distances of rolling

eternal time. Losing her would be like losing consciousness. Please bring the moon back. 

Give back the moon and everything will be for certain once again. Otherwise the true

meaning of an entire fortress will be laid and broken like blood on your hands, will be lost forever among your

youngest generations. It is not only war, but survival. It is not just religion, but spring time here on Mars. 



Bonus poem:




Another Thing Is (a broken draft)


you're still here and there and only I know

it's infinitely worse for me. I'm not

even sure you'll accept that possible 

explanation for these so few stars tonight. Clouds


are still there like lonely wind is still there. Sun

and rain don't pretend to see how you've solved

the human part of the problem, neither

are they invested into that kind of ancient


sea water. Pretty simple. All you

need is love. Love is all you need. So we

actually share something more than our

original end, nothing at all, gas


and oil, five minutes in a lost boat to get to heaven,

potatoes and peas, the shining sad hour.

I met you and you disappeared my heart forever--

like the beautiful panicked pages of


a small kind book of short polite stories.

Couldn't last. Take a deep breath. That's what they

always say. Thing is I never meant to

liken myself to their remorseless fearful surges like that.

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