Fridge Poetry 1 - New Moon Honeymoon

In the eye of the new moon honeymoon

my spirit will whisper the wry magic of winter flowering

fill my ear full with long lost

dreamsongs

beam

ghostfire through

infinite deathdreams.

Oh,

if only

my words could be more than strange

shadow sounds

screaming for

the infinite

and all which could be measured

knowing

somehow

a liar’s life to be more silvered

herculean truth

than

midnight shrouded desire

and full with drinking doubles

and broken laughing

empty caterwauling

and wild crowing at the goddess,

seeing only that old pariah moon,

knowing only the storm voice coming

up from

the gold mine.

Mortally naked and but an echo of emotion,

I endure mystery,

a miserable hero in a sucker fiction.

Full with brilliant mischance and bitter hope,

my strange heart howls light.

Let life’s vulgar drama come as it will

and hold space and never kneel.