Wolves Howl at the Moon because the Moon Screams Back.

By Zachary D’mitri

Still, everywhere and marvelous
the cloudless night, like
death flecked with gleaming pox,
shaky boiling heavens
biting the cloth of his black cloaks.

Twitching like Morse code.
Gorgeous, terrible eyes blinking,
winking secret plots

Rubies and sapphires and silvers and golds
in trembling fights
and undulant fucks;
Celestial engines with rich chambers,
shivering and stark;
Stellar machinery slicked in
the thick sickly oils of naked night.

Wide swing the satellites;
puckish luminaries dallying in the dark.
Digital sky, god’s flicked cigarettes.
Cloudless night,
like dreamless sleep,
or one gorged with those that we forget.

One last dance to that criminal, the clown
Who spilled champagne
all down Gaia’s dinner gown

One last drink to
the milky eye rock.
blind but never
lost.

The man in the moon blows out suns
like they were dandelion clocks.

©zacharyd’mitripoetry

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7 comments

  1. Delicious! you have used some of my very favourite words, and how anyone can conceive of spilling champagne down Gaia’s gown – well! the very thought! I love that someone else enjoys rolling sensual words around and experimenting with them, rather than simply telling me what to think. yummy. thanks

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