the moon

the only way the moon can rise


the only way the moon can rise
is to take a shot just before
the major finishes his briefing,
and remembers his little daughter
has no time to purge
wily arcturus.

the moon rises, alright, like
the free jazz ringtone
improvised by your smartphone
when someone in the whitehouse wasn’t looking.
or did i really mean to say “white horse”?
i guess i wasn’t looking either.
the sample returned but no one was home.

you could have caught it with a flying net,
but every seven years it’s in maintenance
or on a snowy field. the paint on the snow has ripples.
they used 3D printing to make snow fall faster and cheaper.
still, there’s no money for moonlight.


                    — oakland
                         july 2017



except when full


except when full i put
moonlight in a bottle
on the kitchen counter
near the crumbs and unwashed
butter knife moonlight dribbles

down the bottle and
i scoop the light in plastic
bags closed with twist ties
and throw them in a drawer
so i can read next
power failure

soft moonlight beams
murmur my name
in the drawer
and think i’m dead

but i sleep instead
and light falls flat
on the dish you
feel the particles

try to remember but they
sit there expressionless and
motionless and never talk
and don't know their name

and go for a walk
once a day if
someone calls them
from the door


                    — oakland
                         march 2018