this moon is not pink and they-them-theirs never will be

Though you call them the 'pink moon' and dress them in floral prints of the season, the full moon tonight will show their true color to you tonight and let you be let down (or up), and they will light your faces up so they can see how happy or sad you are to see them so. And they will shine upon the phlox they were misnamed after, whose flamed flowers will rise in unison to the top of their stems to peer upon them, and feel their power of persuasion, and the feeling will feel full and beneficial and the phlox flower water will become bubbly and pour pink champagne into the trumpet of the lily. All will at very least acknowledge the full and vibrant moon for their mighty refusal to be classified, categorized, denigrated, or diagnosed. Darwin may well be confused, yet his curiosity a contagion the whole world could catch. The moon was a kind moon, a gentle moon, a moon of many colors, and kept their feelings somewhat to themselves, so not to disturb the galaxy.

little children made a song they like to sing
every april comes around...

then one day 
the pink moon got away
turned blue 
for me and for you
happily and for 
ever

too

dominoes. heaps of clothes -ii

the little panels were etched plastic
if you lined them up right you
solved a code
and then they let you link
up and in

made a clicking sound
each time a panel hit the wooden table
(a computer will try and replicate this
but won't ever cut it. thank god)

the exhaust out the back
continued for hours (rising against the snowfall)
black fossil fuels somehow taken into
 the sky tone

crisp and light and exposed
unlike before when
it was soft and
dark and unseen

 well. you and me we would have it all
exposed
on a beaten path
now road. on a long road
west

moving moving moving
as if there was anywhere better
to go

Journal # 04.03.15

Some kinda reverse osmosis then the water's all gone the tears cycled through you and cannot be collected again like a path once traveled to great heights now overgrown by ferns and hidden and passed by unseen... and only the lucky one who walks slowly enough and dismisses the calls to catch up may find the way to the great heights we all remembered. And only the sun stops and awaits this ascent from the darkness where shade cools the blade of the fern and the shoulder of the one who has stretched off the spine to divine with the fear falling down like a spear to the ground and still.

No one around.