The moon hangs cockeyed and nebulous

between two supervisory clouds.

Her pale, obsessive light moans and is lost

to the wind’s pervasive howl.

I watch for her in the day time,

my lost lover,

my mercurial muse. She is always

beyond my grasp.

The stars are love letters ripped-open with longing.

Dead or otherwise unanswered.

They are proof of the uneven passage of time.

I must be immortal for in searching my memories

I find evidence of my life again and again and again.

My nerves shake

and rub together in front of an indeterminate fire.

My dreams are too spread out,

none neighbor to the other,

I must traverse great distances

and vast continents

in my quest for unification.

One day I will be a person

who can stand up and fall down accordingly.

I am uncomfortable in my claims.

Beware of the man who knows too much

for he admires nothing but the fingers of his own hand.

I am just as uncomfortable with the notion of certainty

as I am with the notion of uncertainty.

One defines the walls of your prison,

the other rips off the ceiling and beckons you

into the unknown and ever-changing sky.

A bit of writer’s block today.

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