It’s 11:30 on a Wednesday night
And the winter’s cold but damp,
The blizzard had passed yet the
Vicious winds have roared
And haven’t stopped.
I am sitting on the beach rocks
Like a boat beating against the current,
And the Moon sleeps in the distance
While the ocean buzzes into life and
The great green light flickering across the dock
Shines endlessly like a garnet stone
Or a beautiful daisy for us to admire
Among a field of grays and blacks.
It was a light for us, to
Incite hope from,
As motivation to stay calm and safe
But to take risks and start scandals
To rise higher up the long ladder
From poverty to sanctuary,
From flames to paradise, and
From ashes to beauty,
And from here we set our gaze skyward.
As I speak the moon-man is fishing for attention,
And languishing in arrogant insecurity, while
Baiting the fish with dread and
Dropping lanterns and light bulbs in the bay;
He’s knocking on the world’s ceiling
And laughing with his lover
For he had exploited the fish for gold.
But the angels, with their all-seeing eyes,
For lightning struck thrice on his mistress
And they were quite pleased
And the moon man was frustrated
And the fish laying on the ocean
Were gasping for air against the
Murky and dangerous current
In the valley of ashes.
And I wondered if they would stay dead for eternity.