Blaise Allen          Deerfield Beach          (LD)    
Over The Moon


I’m finished with late night epiphanies.
I’ve had enough of you insisting
you’re a “New Moon,” when you
disappear for days and show up with
the same dark side you always had.


Notorious, lothario moon, I know you
cavort with other women, wink
and flirt when I turn my back.
I realize you’re just too high
and mighty to be faithful to one.


I know all your aliases: Deer moon,
Singing moon, Hunter moon, Harvest moon.
I’m squashed by your pumpkin heaviness.
You really are a Snake moon! 


I’m done with moon metaphors:
You thrown from a potters wheel
and fired white,
You hooked like a flounder,
You as a communion wafer,
You carnal crazy-maker
exposing your alabaster breast.


I’ll have no more of your Moonpies 
or crescent moons sautéed with cloud 
mushrooms. I’m bored lying under you.
I’m done with your cheesy songs.
I’m through being eclipsed by your glow.
How long must one wait to see you again?
I’m done pining for you! You’re too full of yourself. 
I’m no longer moon drunk, or starry-eyed,
I’ll never touch a drop of Moonshine again.