Poems

14 • metaphor

you try to piece together
a thousand machine-cut, polished
pieces of moon
jigsaw
the moon's in the middle
slightly to the left, like a heart

the rim of the heart is cloudy
concealing needles of starlight that pierce the darkness
(walking barefoot across them
would definitely hurt)
these clouds, nebulae
this chaos you know
is delight, part of the game
a necessary confusion
you try to piece together the round of the moon
         (why is the moon out of shape
         cracked
         won't fit together?)

the moon says things were like this to begin with -
scattered
a thousand pieces of moon cluttering the bed
you are trapped in the moon
in your own
chaotic imagery

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