by Darryl Price
to us! Without it we are less than human and cannot guarantee your safety
any more. Give us back the moon. It is a primary element in the
makeup of our deepest breath. It contains the evening's metaphysical argument like the pumping thumping hopes
in a jugular vein. It transcends with a certain amount of feverish glow the
spanning days we put into our tangled lives. Give the moon back to us
please. She has been always our favorite dreaming stone. Following her gaze we are completely ready
to awaken. You can hear us sliding open. We are beginning to use the
better paper now. She's the better paper of our nature. We cannot live without our
moon, our seed. She is my land camera! Give us back the moon at once!
This is something so crazy,so ordinary and indispensable between all of us in
my mind's eye. One could live on this exact sugar 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. 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 laughing. I
went outside. She was gone. I wanted to cry. Return her to us immediately!
We are deprived of potential without her. The moon is our faintest, prettiest
altogether, friendlier and warmer than any star slipping off into the farthest distances of
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 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 on Mars.
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.
All rights reserved.
This poem is a box with many sides to it, for the moon itself presents so many different faces back to the ones who are standing there staring. This could be a mother's plea, a lover's plea, or a poet's plea. It could be a father's veiled and anguished threat. It could be the beginning of war, or the end of all things. A meditation. An incantation. A dangerous mixture made in the heavens. You decide.