I’m still hoping to get back to writing new stuff soon. I’ve got some ideas for rants and essays on here, and I’d still like to practice creative nonfiction before I try to send any out. In the meantime, here’s another blast from the past, selected randomly. Perhaps it sucks; perhaps it will change your life.

Nomad

Last night the moon fell.
It exploded in
A field, gouging depths
In the dark landscape.
Nearby, a cold river
Flowed to nowhere else.

Today he fails to
See the blank hole in
The sky. He walks through
Fields of asphalt and
Drinks bitter air from
Riverless facades.

Cities never miss the moon.

Couching on the grass,
Wrapped around a cup
Of frozen peace, leg
Shot off by dead men,
He collects loose change
And ignores children.

Symbiote from wars
Leeching babies born
When he could stand straight,
He defends his name
From unseen monsters
And dying ideals

When the moon comes up again.