Thursday, January 31, 2008

Romantic Suicide


Like her coffee cup forgotten
on the roof of the car,
this monument the moon—
full and pretty, but
does it mean anything besides
a bowl of light in the dark?

Thinning every night
as if to contract from wonder.
What’s the point of it
to us anyway? As if
obsucurity raised hope.
As if the moon too
gratefully acknowledged
what remained of the object world—

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