Poetry

Don’t forget

the hiding thought

that made the moon

so embarrassed.

I’m embarrassed too

moon, for you &

your second-hand

shine. Your eclipsing

self-regard, your fictional

solace above in

a nova of salt

angels & astronauts

fucking on your

aromatic moon belly

washing away

the footprints of

old ‘pioneers’ who

thought you were theirs.

Did you remember

after all, the secrets

of the sun, &

the blinding recognition

that you mean the world

to us & mean nothing

to yourself, so shocked

others find you a mark

in their childhood, so

generous at night

though I know

you’re selfish,

secrets & all,

shallow & illuminating.

Why, what else

could I ask from you?

You’re more body,

more rock than mind.

Sentimental though crass

like a cheap bauble

of white leaves.

You’re not yourself

when I love you,

you know that, right?

But then again,

how else

to love you? ∎

 

Words by Alex Matraxia.