i’m really really really sorry but i’m gonna spam everyone with poems!!!!!!!!! Good luck!!
my house, and the moon does neither of these things,
I am talking about myself.
It's not possible to get off to sleep or
the subject or the planet, nor to think thoughts
Better barefoot it out the front.
door and lean from the porch across the privets
and the palms into the washed out creation,
a dark place with two particular
bright clouds dusted (query) by the moon, one's mine
the other's an adversary, which may depend
on the wind, or something.
A long moment stretches, the next one is not
on time. Not unaccountably the chill of
the planking underfoot rises
in throat, for its part the night sky empties
the whole of its contents down. Turn on a bare
heel, close the door behind
on author, cringing demiurge, who picks up
his litter and tools and paces me back
to bed, stealthily in step.