An idea of fantastic moonlight
on the rumbling surface of the water,
we are concentric in our desires
for the rest of the meal,
It’s only during full moons
when the dogs feel like singing
and the trains and trolleys,
running along parallel tracks,
to screech and whistle and yowl
into the black shadows of downtown
in the blue grey sheen of lunar gleaning
that makes the land and the seems arid
and thirsty with desire as all the cars
rattle in line and the steel wheels
grind around the bends of the tracks that
cut through old neighborhoods
where no one vacations where the trains
are going to or coming from.
“i want to you scratch my back and rub my neck”
you are saying, turning around in your seat,
your computer screen on a web page decorated with
floral print and drawings of naked men,
there’s much to write about before deadline,
there’s a mountain of data that needs indexing and
some other line of scrutiny, you place a finger
over my lips, you say “Listen” and there are barking dogs,
car horns and train whistles sounding in orchestrations
that is cryptic, shrill, and thirsty with desire
in all the ashen hues the full moon brings us,
it’s time to let data just pile up
so, we can pile on each other
and books fall to the floor
as they would in perfect love stories
The camera pulls away and floats to the window
to settle on an image of the full moon,
the full moon would be smiling, yes?
but no, not that, clouds drift over the orb
and the world loses some of
the grey glow,
yet the sound doesn’t change,
whether trains, dogs, cars stalled
on an overpass,
both of us stuck on each other,
noises stuck on the black tarp of evening.
.
Ted Burke
.