Poetry & Prose

Half Moon


The sky is so clear tonight that you can barely stand to look at the stars. Breathe deeply- you can tell yourself that the familiar crackle in your lungs is just the smell of the autumn leaves drying up and crumbling into your body. Tell yourself that the blinding spots of light are only an arm’s reach away. The half moon watches- you don’t know which way it’s going. Tomorrow it could be plump with urban haze or it could be thinned out with the coming of winter.



If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? What if that place we try to escape is the only place we can count on returning to? If I could rip the lungs from my body I would, but then where would that leave me. The unknown tastes like metal and it lingers in my mouth this year.



Sometimes I don’t know how I’ll get myself out of bed when. When my two machines greet me like lumbering beasts in the morning. When I take fistfuls of grass ripped up from the lawn and lie down on the dirt and I can’t see green anywhere. When the promise of things to come loom over me and I won’t know which way I’ll go till tomorrow.

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