All Moons Create Monsters

 

It calls the Wild where we were;
The tank, the assassin, the tactical lizard 
All came to the summer porch
Evening lay humming, too light
For the Wild in the suburbs and park.

The tank was a were-pillow, was a dog;
The assassin an eel king and also a dog;
The lizard born winged, from too many wasps
Its mother consumed that season.

Moon calls her monsters with sunburnt voice

Now a dragon, a barbarian hairy and grey,

A thief with sharp teeth and shadows

Will hunt the wild moon streets

Through a flood of cast-out ghosts 

Ghosts like scattered corn

Pursued by deer with grinding teeth

Or

Ghosts like the dark cold 

At the bottom of the creek

Shadow-spread through garage or kitchen.

Wind shoves the detached before it

But the loose believe they fly skillful;

An orange specter is screaming,

A gaping Cheetos bag,

It warns those it passes of the litter and the fear

Ghosts are chasing it; is it so much faster? 

The Wild is running over us

Dirt and leaves and water 

Even the lightest sinking in the current

Down to the murk where the labyrinth

Curves into claws and feral trees fall, released

To skim everything from the bones.

The tanker offers sleep, a snoring pillow

Like a fortress and the assassin darts through shadow

Pulls the ghosts from the wind

With a sable bite, darkness against the Moon

And the lizard flies like dreams and moonlight

Catching out the nightmares 

Until the night looms, fantastically still, once again

I'll hear the hoofbeats next time

I'll close the window swiftly

I'll weigh the windy lies with old words

Before the Wild comes whistling

Sharing at noon and a half because I'm awake (victory!), still relatively voiceless, and completely overmastered by the weirdness I was trying to weave while still mostly sleeping. :) I'm not sure what I managed to get into (James thinks it's dustmites and mildew--he'd like me to remember to BRING THINGS INDOORS WHEN IT RAINS; I'm convinced it's inhaling dog hair while Arthur tries to watch himself in the TV and then the bathroom mirror) but it pretty much has the muse social distancing as best she can. I think it might be cabin fever, in which case, I'm hoping an entire chorus of Muppets will be showing up shortly for our dance number.

Hope your week is fully of fuzzy happy! Or just happy. Or...fuzz. If that's your thing.

We've got cabin fever! We're all going nuts!

-- Chrissa