Stop the crying jag
pack a Gladstone bag
book a lunar junket now.
Stay on the sun side
Moon Rabbit runs by
late for a date anyhow.
Rent you a moon car
with hot tub and bar
green cheese and crackers for free.
Dub yourself Moon Maid
retro your moon grade
stay on indefinitely.
this is a form called an alouette.
for Sunday Muse #169.
"Recipe For Satori En Flambe"
In the desert, find a mirage that suits,
that lives, that fruits despite the gritty eye,
the thing that dries and rides inside your boots,
the thing that shoots itself but does not die.
This is the thing you'll need the most,
a far outpost of the soul.
There is no whole thing here, just shards
and acrid tars to smoke.
This is not as bad as it scans,
not some madman's practical joke;
a softly spoken barcarolle,
a gondolier mid-stroke.
In the desert, find a skull that sings,
an awful thing sick with the wound you need.
Take it up, feed it well until it brings
(from horrors) wings of glass, and salt, and seed.
In a rib bowl, mix these with buried roots
and tongues of mutes in ash rain from a sky
too close and bright, the silver-sharp of flutes
some god imputes with holy song and sigh.
this is a LaJemme poem.
You can see where the connection failed. When I came back the type changed.