The Moon Inside His Head

there is a moon inside his head he thinks falls out through his eye his sight
and becomes the sums that add up to more than mere ideas
in a real world of wordly illusions heaven cast these nuggets and pearls into the aperture of your dreams
and why, why, why do we ever want to make anyone anywhere think anything?

There are countless moons we cannot see

***

 

 The darkness of the storm reaches into the shadows of the mind. The children screaming, quivering hands trying to cover their mouths; glass breaking under backs as bodies pile into the locker, he thinks of Kurt Vonnegut, he thinks this is a counter attack, he feels the earth lifting, oh shit he thinks, this is not a live bass solo by Less Claypool, this is my viscera about to return to the star dust.

We're gonna be alright.

I love you. I love everybody.

Time to give blood. Time to reach down deep and stop wondering if you can, if anyone understands. That aint what I heard they will say. It caint happin here.

Take my hand. Look, the roof is coming off, we are rising up into the furry of night's unstoppable will, as she bows beneath the stars. As we leave this dream for another, as we depart this nothingness for the unknown nothingness as nothing at last, what do they say?

We're gonna be alright.

I love you. I love everybody.

You come to in an old tomb. Your body is gone. There is soft blue light, it is around you, it is you. You see something that is oddly familiar, oddly sweet.



Among the suffering all flames go out, they are taken by the storm that is the universe, their flames are returned to that same darkness where all light bends and flies away away away. Goodbye, my blaze of dancing souls, may we reform again forgetting all of what we were in these ruins of worship.