September Moon! You peek-a-boo, seems like
Same old days. Whatever, you! Seasons bleed
With diffusions gift, or, mutants. Seems like
Old times ago. God, I hate this! Like blood.

Moon too stoned to think ahead, yay to you.
I think details cloud judgement. I still think
I’m starred to your lower, right? Without clue?
Refreshed, my sight, thank you. I wonder what

that lesson was? You know? It seems to me
I should retire, in a communicable
Way, I mean. I don’t think comfort zones e
Xist, anymore. In a world preamble,

Moons are calendars. So what? I see pain
Everafter. See old moons loom. See panes…

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 9/29/09