Red Moon, black clouds

downcast eyes, you are my shroud.

Bleak forecast, unsure feet

beating heart I let your ice hand creep.

 

I’ve walked these streets before, sure

but I don’t dare take a right or left.

Snow banks block in between the brick buildings,

color of the skin, which I am bereft.

 

This is my warpath,

where eventually snow turns to ash.

This is a one way street

but if I didn’t want it to be,

I could shriek, I could shriek.

 

No, I will follow the Red Moon until I reach the half-gate.

I will follow, like the breath in front of me, and dissipate.

 

My Journey will come to an end

when I decide to reach the doorman,

and he will ask for my coat

but not before he boasts.

 

Silver-backed smoke curls around the half-made columns

this is the broken jaw of man.

Don’t stare into the snow or face this kingdom’s alumns,

instead bathe in the blood of the lamb.

 

Let beauty blossom droplets upon the snow

a soft kiss laid on my heart which pisses glass.

I am not among this class.

I need to run fast!

I need to run fast, but my limbs grow heavy.

 

They call this:  the fever of the spine.

They said:  give it time, give it time.

Just lay brick in front of you

and you will shine, you will shine.

 

No, I will follow the Red Moon until I reach the half-gate.

I will follow, like the footprints behind me, and dissipate.

 

Last stop; mind the gap.

Future is fortunate, and it’s fallen in your lap.

“Salvation” is whispered with salty tears and sandpaper throats,

I’ve found the doorman beckoning to take my coat.

 

“I’ve seen greater men than you flicker;

ones with young eyes and old tickers.

I’m no great prophet, and this is no great matter.

Decry half-truths and false teeth, let the lies yawned shatter!

 

But alas, I’m glad the ice hand crept

and you’ve decided to place no bet,

but pour please the shards of your heart tattered

upon my rose-swirled silvered platter.

Now, may I take your coat?  It’s frigid.”

 

Red Moon, black clouds

downcast eyes, you were my shroud.

Bleak forecast, prepared feet

beating heart, I let your, I let your…

 

The universe has squeezed into a clementine in my gut.

My vocal chords will rip to ribbons, but I must, God dammit I must!

 

Lament the image

fight the blight.

Shake the pillars and cry:

“Let there be light!

Let there be light!”