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The surface of the moon.

by Johnny Crimson

The soul-tooth stain
on a monarch's bedpost
fades and wails with each new believer.

Dip your brittle hair back deep
into the stagnant pale water
as 3 ages of time have their weekend in your mouth.

Seperate my silence
and divy up this bag of brains,
weeds that grow too quickly
to be choked and then kissed.

Sever me 3 licks from Awakening
and cut the blinds that now fall
and float upon
the stillness of a dragging noon's air.

Bloat and stab dead frogs in the night
as the fireflies blush and flicker,
keeping their secrets behind them
for only you to understand.

I was just one mason jar away from
meeting your lightning bug quota for the night,
but your father picked you up far too early
and we never said goodbye.



04/08/2011

Posted on 04/09/2011
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/09/11 at 02:47 PM

That ending packs a beautiful, mournful punch, man. Brilliant work as always.

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