Poem that just happened to me. Sometimes they just happen. You know?
KILL THE MOON
I’m going to kill the moon
I’m going to rip it from its orbit and toss it like a fish
Into a frying pan and sauté the poetry right out of it.
Then I’m going to eat it in big hot bites
Sauced with all the anger I’ve ever felt,
Vinegar and wine and something cool on the side,
Like jazz but not music. Not that again.
Maybe a brush full of cadmium orange paint
Let it drip into each crater, sound of rain.
Ripping the moon flesh up with my fingers and stuffing it
Into my mouth to keep from crying.
So don’t tell me what to do.
I’m a moon eater.
Pat Troise
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