The late slipping beer of moon <br />Pours along the nearest green shadows <br />Round and shining—frothy, alcoholic <br />In all its treat: <br />A burning plate- <br />A heavy crown to our illustrations <br />A pull to wildest rhymes <br />Poetry in its nature <br />To seduce and intoxicate <br />And pull apart the proudest <br />Lyrics of sanity. <br /> <br />A wild tattler—the moon. <br />We hear a siren in the distance- <br />Deep inside the corners of stars <br />And we easily blame <br />The distress on him <br />For he shines his blinking light <br />Proudly against the trees <br />And inside the deepest tides of vertigo <br />And we shoot our speculations <br />Into his face sinking like fire <br />Against the cool firs. <br />He is the monster <br />To devour in midnight feasts <br />Because he is so loud in all his glory <br />And therefore must be the cause.<br /><br />Masiela Lusha<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/late-moon-2/
