Lunanite

Moon weeps through a mare, the roses of her angry birth
flowed like beaming wine and so slit her rind,
her regolith grey poison.

Now, I know her eyes, sunken in by speeding thumbs.
Luna and her lunanite still cry, from all the beatings
and flaming guns.

Moon fights and sobs, for she is not our mother
but rather is the child of Earth, and was ripped from her.

Look up at her, cold Moon,
in the maria she mouths the hymns with chalky lips.
The dark houses her, the earth still slings her, in the Sun’s gaze

she folds in and out.

4 thoughts on “Lunanite

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s