the moon, part ii
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the pipes that
once linked each
house to all
the others have
burst, sending jets
of contaminated water
onto the lawns
and into the
dark, cramped basements.

in a house
where visions used
to come to
the dog by
the stove, a
stack of papers
sits on a
wooden desk, never
again to be
touched by ink.

in a ditch,
a car missing
one part lies
dormant, its final
sputter somewhere high
up in the
uniform black sky.

a campfire in
the forest around
which young ones
once gathered with
mischief in their
eyes and joy
in their hearts
to trade whispers
and notes plucked
on acoustic guitar
strings has been
reduced to a
pile of ash,
the instrument left
on a rotting
oak tree stump.

the cover band
have packed up
their instruments and
hit the road,
never to come
back to the
land of slow
dances and gentle
violet light, never
to find the
land of drinks
that bubble and
dresses that sparkle.

the venue where
boys once kneeled
before their dates
has closed, the
posters and banners
from its final
high school prom
never taken down,
the car of
the star cornerback
who would go
on to blow
his knee out
in an away
game still parked
in the lot.

in a tiny
apartment, a man
with eyebags as
deep as the
ocean places a
stool under the
ceiling fan. he
peers through the
noose, expecting to
see the moon
through the window,
but there is
only starless black.

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