This accredited creature goes outside
in the middle of the night
and speaks a poem to the moon.
The poem is brand new and gooey,
like a chocolate chip cookie just out of the oven.
He feels he must workshop it in nature’s vision.
“O Moon,” he begins…
But the moon is not listening.
The owl with her winged bloodthirst hears
and her talons tighten. Human voices are vile.
The mouse about to be torn to strips
and fed to owlets like McNuggets hears the strange grunts
aimed at the moon, an orb which he could only see
if people were kind enough to make mice glasses.
Rabbits shiver. A coyote at the swimming pool.
Even the trees listen in the weird way they do.
The murderer holding a broken bottle
in trees nearby , he also listens and hears
the message he has been waiting to hear:
“Kill. Kill them. Kill them All!
Start with this gurgling thing, this moon man.”
The poet is beginning to feel very proud of himself.
The moon is beaming down, illuminating
this all-too-familiar drama about to happen,
as the madman creeps up behind the back
of this free poetry reading. The moon goes to bed
soon after. She has only ever cared for blood
in the night, and the countless bodies of water
where she can see herself reflected in her perfect
blankness. Her lovely pocked stoned face
like a Manson girl beaming in the night.