I. (why do I fall? I don’t know but everyone has and its always strange, because so is life, and sometimes its terrible. And the moon's there, too)

In the morning,
I collapse,
I have no chance.
There’s no place to stand
and no stand to be made,
as the horde of shadows
surrounds and sticks in my thick throat.
Horrible and hungry,
they’ll eat everything but my flesh,
those foul shadow thoughts
and shadow monsters,
shadow reflections of me (I hear them each time I speak).
All of these things
structured into form
by blackened branches
and silhouetted
against the cold, rising sky.

I’m just fallen here, clinging
to the rocky soil of an eroded hill.
And the moon in the sky stares
with its many-eyed face,
translucent and strange,
falling from its wanderings through the east.

I wonder where it was born;
if an orb drifted aimlessly forth from the heavens,
crashed into Earth’s green side,
and melded together the different dirts and metals,
making something so
glowing and lonely.
And now it does its felt and distant duties:
turns the seas,
directs the movements of birds,
oversees the changing and ancient shifts…

Though,
not so stable.
What about its composition
makes it so ever changing,
pure until not?
Sometimes so distant, sometimes so close.
Sometimes so full, sometimes so fallen.

A tremor comes
from bellow.
Within the deep well of warm,
it rises
up through my feet,
carried by a million miles
of hallowed dirt.
Up my gut and shaking my mind,
which itself,
welled up like a phoenix or flame
from the earth’s inside
and reached far away,
where higher altitudes
transformed it into something
equally misty and hard.

This quake I feel
is stunning,
but, not just for me.
Its been here
for all of time
and we’ve felt the swelling
since we broke free
and became distinguished
from what we were made.
We plucked a glowing apple
from the red and green, fall-tree.
In its birth and in its death, we saw
the strangeness of ourselves
and the world to which we are tied.

II (kneeling in the autumn grass. And the moons there, too)

I kneel in the yellow grass,
stick my fingers
inside pockets of leaves.
If I stay all silentlike through the night,
in the day
someone will mistake me for a leaf
and rake me with the others
onto a pyre of grass
to burn back into earth and space.
But, I guess,
they would probably just shove me
into a plastic bag
and leave to my Rational rotting.

I feel dense muscles in my back
and the applehole in my chest.
Weight has built me
just to make a greater crash.

I wish I could rip out
the fragile form
of my endless shadowheart and shadowlungs,
but, what could I replace it with?

I could turn the branches and pine needles of that tree
into a wreath
or fill myself with fur fallen from the beast
stalking around my knees, but,
though they feel real,
they, too, are only strong, in their breakable sorta way.

I could replace it
with the bumpy, weird moon,
but, I’m human
so it’d be just the same.

III. (to the moon, translucent and faded, in an attempt for connection)


I cut my breath.
Do you hear me screamin,
as the wind blows around,
do you see me from your spot,
shrouded by clouds?
I see you watching
with your knowing, crooked frown.

As I lay in the grass
do you, too, smell the trees
stuck in the dirt
and reaching for fading stars.
Is it moving, would it almost lift your heart,
if not for the emptiness
between you and the world?
But, oh,
how its sometimes warm when you touch.

Do you ever get lonely
way the hell up there?
Your hardly here,
you see it all
and barely understand a thing.

Do you see the similarities?
We might be broken,
but how could
people see,
cause we only collapse
when the sun hides our fall
and day always makes us look
stoic and empty
in the corner of blue skies.

But I’m feeling shaky,
like the universe that surrounds me,
and I can tell from your poorly patterned orbit,
that your unsure, too.
Even though, your hangin
up there with a frown.

Oh strange moon,
I know your core
is not just dust.
it’s made of what made you,
but it’s something that’s more.

I wish I could draw you
or write you in my mind,
but it all comes so short.
what fills a heart
is gaseous and clear