Moon Song (16/06/16)

From the dank, dark Earthiness of a
Summer night
I look up to the sky
To the Light
Pale, Pure,
Of the Nearly Virgin Moon.
Oh, I cannot tell
What I would give
To go and live amongst the
Moon-Dwellers.
There, where there is no time for lies, politeness;
Where the only action
Is that Distilled from Impulse.
Where to love is to breathe;
Where to hate is to die in the street;
To kill with a blow rather than
Feigned Nicety.

The food up there is shared,
Though Unwillingly,
For to spare bread on a
Dead Land is to become
Dust.

On the Moon, they live like
Kings, Bandits, Angels, Dogs—
Anything other than the lie-blistered
Bogging Earthiness
Of nightless humanity.

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