the-moon

it's a fine moon', she repeated

purple threaded evening. a torn goddess laying on the roof. milk sky. lavender hued moan against hot asphalt. the thickness of evening presses into your throat. polaroids taped to the ceiling. ivy pouring out of the cracks in the wall. i found my courage buried beneath molding books and forgot to lock the door behind me. the old house never forgets. opened my mouth and a dandelion fell out. reached behind my wisdom teeth and found sopping wet seeds. pulled all of my teeth out just to say i could. he drowned himself in a pill bottle and the orange really brought out his demise. lay me down on a bed of ground spices. there__ a song there, i know it. amethyst geode eyes. cracked open. no one saw it coming. october never loved you. the moon still doesn__ understand that.

In winter, on the darkest nights, one rejoices even to see the tiniest sliver of a moon.

When you touch the moon with beloved eyes, you behold a glimpse of an amazing life.

In presence of the Moon nobody sees stars.

Oh. My. God._ she said, pointing out of the window. __o you know what that is?__ nodded and said, __ think I may have seen it before.___hat,_ said Florida, __s the Moonyouidiot.

Don__ ever stray from yourself, in order to be close to someone that doesn__ have the courtesy to remind you of your worth, or the integrity of a gentleman to walk you home.

The lovelorn came, too. The alone. The lunatics-they were brought here, sometimes. Got their name from the moon, it was only fair the moon had a chance to fix things.

The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It__ always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do.

You weremoon's eye to mepull and grained and mantling' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

She is mad, and I am sane. To speak to her, even the first word, would be an acknowledgement and an acceptance of her madness, and from there I would have no choice but to follow her down the hole until both of us would be here alone in this ship among the clouds, endlessly circling the earth, our needs carefully ministered to by mechanical men, howling ourselves hoarse and counting off the ticks of the clock before the moon falls out of the sky.

Soon our culture's oldest dreams will be made real. Even the thought of sending a kind of flying craft to the moon is no longer nothing more than a child's fantasy. At this moment in the cities below us, the first mechanical men are being constructed that will have the capability to pilot the ship on its maiden voyage. But no one has asked if this dream we've had for so long will lose its value once it's realized. What will happen when those mechanical men step out of their ship and onto the surface of this moon, which has served humanity for thousands of years as our principal icon of love and madness? When they touch their hands to the ground and perform their relentless analyses and find no measurable miracles, but a dead gray world of rocks and dust? When they discover that it was the strength of millions of boyhood daydreams that kept the moon aloft, and that without them that murdered world will fall, spiraling slowly down and crashing into the open sea?