Читать книгу The Do-Over - Kathleen Ossip - Страница 17

Ghost Moon

This is the light of the culture: gold and misleading.

The moon of the culture is full; its light is thick.

The moon is famous, I’ve read it smells like gunpowder.

The moon binds the town in ivory plastic wrap.

The streetlight does not even bother to shine tonight.

Only once a month is the moon so bright, so bright!

I absorb its rays, I’m sure they do my skin good.

The moon is no drug. It is a voyeur

Clicking the same porn links over and over.

Or—no, wait, that’s me. The moon

Is that white disk up there, most definitely.

Most definitely it is poached or steamed

in a black broth of quietness. I eat here.

I make beds here. Here I stare at screens.

The moon is manic, it has a coin-like shape.

My eyes spiral with inattention.

The Lord God Yehovah is as vengeful as the moon,

The Goddess Devi is as nurturing.