Letters on the Moon – A Poem

moon

Letters on the Moon

Sorry I missed your call.

I was busy writing letters on the moon.

And other than being chased by

thirteen turkeys and a

rooster

since Mars

there has been little to talk about.

They had me confused with someone

on television.

A man who promised

to help them discover how to

live forever.

I sold them the salt off of my

shoes for five hundred dollars

and skipped

town.

The lunar landscape is wonderful.

Unobtrusive and barren.

My dark mahogany desk and

rod iron coat rack

a subdued, stark contrast.

But I can’t stay

long.

The water supply is limited,

and I am running low on

oxygen.

Someone planted a tree here.

No leaves, just thin, bare branches,

frozen buds.

Eternally suspended,

it is coated in

silver moon dust.

An animated fairy tale

on sedatives.

In one of its upper braches

is a chameleon with a

superiority complex.

He is green,

glaring at me with a peculiar

look on his face.

He reminds me of you.

I named him

Charles.

Did you hear how they found

a man covered in polyurethane

under a bridge in

San Francisco?

His eyes were gone.

A woman

he fucks twice a week

had them

in a jar of peach preserves.

She claims God brought them to her.

God told her that the man’s eyes

had seen the glory

and needed to be removed

to protect humanity.

He is recovering at

a local hospital.

Strangely,

he and the woman have never been to

San Francisco,

or even outside their home state of

Tennessee.

This made me think of that night we

met in your back yard

on side of the shed

by the chain link fence

where the light

and the straying eyes

from the kitchen

window

could not reach us.

The sweet smell of

hay and juniper

tickling the summer air.

I brought you my father’s gun.

Its black shape glimmering

in the faint moonlight;

a dark star

that had fallen into your hand.

Your eyes were wide

and greedy

as you moistened your lips, whispering in my ear

we would use it

only once

and then bury it next to Violet

in the spicebush.

It’s like you saw the glory

that night,

and have been hiding from God

ever since.

I am almost ready to leave here.

The turkeys are closing in

and I can feel the wrath

of the rooster

hot

on my heels.

I am taking Charles with me.

He will be my copilot.

If you should see my wife,

let her know I miss

her calculated madness

and maniacal

sense of humor,

her soft compassion,

the tenderly forceful way

she makes

love.

But this is probably too personal.

Just say hi.

The coffee has turned cold.

My letters are littered

all about

as if they are the freshly fallen leaves

of the Moon Dust Tree.

This one will soon join their ranks,

these scattered written portraits

small, frozen time capsules

that lay unmoving on

the arid

lunar surface.

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15 thoughts on “Letters on the Moon – A Poem

  1. “he reminds me of you” referencing the chameleon … I think of shifting personalities … loving someone who is mentally ill, homicidal … this poem makes me think of the moon as purgatory, a waiting place for something beyond

  2. Absolutely Surreal- “The Little Prince”- Yea and it would kind of be like the little prince looking at a Salvadore Dali’s painting. The problem here is that I’m crazy enough to understand you- love your style and that scares me LOL!

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