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.
