blue moon

I bleed dark blue like yonder moon.

perchance the doom could come soon,

scattering gloom on this dead dune;

and it's not even the month of june.

.

my fears are pruned by a sky loon

who got high at the height of noon

whistling silently a tuneless tune

that makes even the deaf swoon.

.

august left us with this rare moon

there, tolerant like a restrained balloon

forgotten like a character in a cartoon,

howling, baying, pretending to croon.

.

and then alas she's gone, this boon,

leaving worshippers without a spoon

with which to feed their empty ruin -

that is, until the next blue moon.