if the moon rocks
when does it stay
I saw it spinning
I swear
And someone warned me from facebook
And it burned the edges of the clouds
And it looked like a ufo
thatthoseamericanssawinplainfields
I got em’
for that time standing in some seethrough silver goldlit moonlit pavement
because everything was in light because of that moon
full and dashing like teasing even
like a gem in the sky dazzle dazzle stare up too long
get a funny feeling buzzing in the knees and a vibrations in (y)a core
I was shit stoned but it was a chariots moment –
I felt ancient
sipping together concepts of myth and me and moon
dousing above the new peoples house faczing mine in meaning
louszin around the whole thing throating a ciggie
refreshed by the opening/framing of gaelach lán
I fluid or something
along or inbetween those lines
Ancient old me
and the moon and the telephone wires and the dark belly clouds and the one palm tree that swayed in my direction
never seen before so many shades
in the panaroma of my driveway mundane moon stuns like a silver wasp
adam reaching out ofr god pictured in my cracked frame
A religious image
because it all must come from moments like in front of the moon like this loving and turned
out into abstractjion
Text
Cormac Kirby is a poet and urban planner living on unceded Wurundjeri and Bunurong land.
He is interested in multi-disciplinary poetry, spatial poetry and how where we live influences our understanding of the universe.