Kneel in Exile

The Moon more accessible,
suddenly standing naked & pale , a riddle rising,
an extra step, so what? he is still King of the Tides,
seen more distinctly in darkness, the Moon sleepwalks,
restless like a dog, & if only I were an astronaut,
in order to leave life a while, with no historical baggage,
I would fill Armstrong’s boots, dismount a Pfizer-capsule,
fear no evil but mine and only mine,
& when Sun goes down, I will hide in a desolate crater,
plant flags called Gethsemane, I share supplied oxygen
with something that looks like a Bay of Pigs,
they amble without knowing, Star War lovers
make wish upon it –
Lord have mercy, what have we done, quo vadis?
Camelot America has gone and done it, a great leap for mankind,
I prostrate behind Neil’s wondrous trajectory home,
it threatens not heavens,
& tonight Evil Emperors dance beneath misty moonlight.

This article was posted on Saturday, August 25th, 2012 at 7:07pm and is filed under Poetry.