moon Poetry

out back
counting
stars, lying
back on a
swing,
staring
up -
trying to
stir feelings
of being afloat
on the open sea
in a dinghy perhaps,
just a rucksack to
take short naps.

the metal bar
holding the
swing takes
away from
the illusion
a bit, but
the
   rocking
       motion
slight back
and forth...

and the world
continues to spin.

intense feelings
dull, get weaker.

the solitude was
palatable in the
rooms - the way
he walked thru
them.

and time is a funny
concept maybe.
unrelenting
moments
slipping
forward.

marooned
on the moon
in june, the hero,
or hapless space-
poet, ponders with
perplexing propensity
continuing sending
messages to the
universe at large
and calling it
poetry.

early morn-
ing and i
can't sleep
(again locked
in thoughts for
long periods -
cosmo some
-one called
me once - and
in these thoughts
i get lost and stay
awake for many 
hours at a time
and then sleep
with schedule 
so messed
up again)