Moon Visions

why does the feeling
end?
i accept the speed and time
and trajectory;
but throat plucked and mouth
dry; why is this a rule?

rows and ruminations cake up,
cars unsold, paper-weights control
never to be seen with or known or
scratched-
your gone.

looking up and stars say your name;
one little red one is burning within,
and I hate,
and I adore, and,
I don't know anything, or I
go dry.

never end, never remember the bad;
I am not a friend of 3am whimsy snips,
they hurt, they create the landscape
I live amongst-
domed creature of lunar creativity-
my speed slows,
numb hum now-
it feels new.