i love words they just don't always seem to love me. a transcription. (i do NOT think i'm plath)

Sep 12, 2003 01:31

i'm penning this by moonlight
in true poetic fashion. we poets see things in a unique (moon)light, you see.
we take notice to the details others skip over.
we live forlornly by moonlight because...well, it's so goddamn bright sometimes that somebody's got to live by it. it's too omnipresent to be without purpose and since there don't seem to be any other takers, so here we are writing.

this isn't a metaphor tonight.

this is something real, the silence of the artists a persistent plague overpowered only by full moonlight, when werewolves appear in london and tides seem to swell on both sides of the earth and it doesn't matter one bit that that's not even possible.
it's two a.m. on a tuesday and there are parallel line-segment shadows on the floor ending the marriage of the moon and the window.
and this pattern immediately makes me want to write about you. why? it's
just diluted sunlight, really...bright like this dead in the middle of the night.
no wonder they say it makes everyone go crazy.
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