Caste of the Moon Mask

Found the Appalachian line
but didn’t find the reason you stayed

 in the pines. It’ll take more than time,
ghost blips, voicing taglines…

 It’s the right time for the game we play:
feigning hearts tied to some rusted

 banister for bantering, or more. Between
making your dreams fall apart

 and finding small pain outside of palms,
reality lurks, the corners. Depending on color,

 we can tear each feather from the magpies
that cross tanning prairies, make wishes

 against our better judgement to the sand,
every grain placed with a sense of nostalgia:

 walking down Markland or finding a shrub-
covered cove in sunlight to bake your skin

into mine–It’s just another place I’ll miss…
So easy to start suffering when everyone

else has, change. Hunt under-the-moon mode,
along with the monsters built from Romantics

who fell to the wet concrete side—Once
humming a hibiscus tune, now humdrum

succulent with sharp mandala leaves, stuck
in a desert floor, no power to move toward

the sun like Orchidaceae, blue cacti juice
can’t stop the contras from binding…

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2 thoughts on “Caste of the Moon Mask

  1. i get the sense in this poem of two people who seem to be “playing” at love. this play can be erotic and ecstatic but also grim (“no power to move forward”). i admire your ability to pull together so many disparate parts into a piece that is delightful in its creativity and yet have coherence.

    Like

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