that moon, she’s posing
as a bowl of milk, the open
-ing rind of a sweet can’t
-aloupe, arresting of tongue
but stilted and squat
in its own lack of light.
mercy flowing, served up
among the indelicate scattered
moss of stars, Orion in a
wheelchair and all those sisters
(shaped like who knows
what – a ram? a rooster? a stone?)
pushing him along, belt
but belting out
Ave Maria as if all
this ebony abyss depends
on each dark note.
Quickly‘s back! And she’s got prompts! 😉
You’re just too good–dang!
I love these:
the moon doing yoga in the opening
the sweet “can’t elope” and the “loopy arresting of tongue”
“among the indelicate scattered”
“Orion in a wheelchair”
“as if all this ebony abyss depends on each dark note”
“familiar THIS” as a comeback
What an opening!
What a strange scene! But the images are alive – Orion in a wheelchair? I fear the ebony abyss!
Ohmigosh. Your brilliance knows no bounds. The images, the wordplay, the concepts … whoa!
Orion in a wheel chair and being pushed by the sisters no less. I love it. Think I’ll go outside and check out the night sky 🙂