• Imperfect Moonlight
    Who howls in this imperfect moonlight?
    White winter wolf, or mangy dog
    walking under the cold covers of my bed
    slithering this fear into me.

    Why am I so afraid?

    Paw prints on my doorstep
    and lonely rooms left Godless.
    I fear I have a snout
    because I can smell the starchy air crush my lungs.

    Yesterday mother took another fall
    and I watched her tumble down the stairs
    her eyes trapped in unsurprised anxiety
    and my heart failing to skip a beat
    as hers fell victim to imperfect humanity.

    And I wonder:
    which artist paints a picture with so many flaws?
    With thoughts of fire and brimstone
    I read silently, thumbing through a gospel
    and trying to relate it to my own journal.

    She yelled today,
    her eyes only filled with disappointment
    as I sinned in every portion of my existence.
    I reached for her hand
    only to find she's been dead for my lifetime.
    So cold, and dreamless, she became a zombie
    in hopes of devouring the soft flesh of my soul.

    I try to sleep, but the moon is awfully persistent;
    reminding me of all I've failed to do.
    "Howl" it says
    and my eyes ice over in the cold
    and my hands shake
    and I mourn the dreams that poison my day.