New Moon

When the moon calls us,
when it gets under our skin
and behind our eyes,
all I can think of
is its bright face,
the sweet high bliss of it
screamsinging inside me,
buried somewhere
so far below
it is in the knot of me
that was tied
when I was first begun,
before there ever was a me,
when I was nothing more than howling
beneath the dark
of someone else’s new moon.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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