A Beautiful, Hollow Goddess
he moon rusts in the sky like a dead bulb Off-white and useless.
I am the only tree beneath it My bare branches reach For the faintest whimper of recycled light Sap frozen in my veins.
My brain is slow And words are failing to offer The best and brightest among them Instead I get the rejects The ones they throw out With the evening hackney pot of coffee.
The moon should pull tides from me I should be overwhelmed With the midday oppressive heat Spurning me to act, to live! But instead my heart is a vacant bee hive That hasn't buzzed in years, A terrible, bloodless peace.
And from the moon I get nothing But a beautiful, hollow goddess To which to I continue to pray.
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