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Monday, May 23, 2011

59

when i was little i used to think there was a man in the moon

i used to press my face against the window
until my breath would fog up the glass
i would wipe it away again and again

when i looked at the man in the moon
i would wonder if he felt lonely
or if he liked to be up there
being looked at

i look at the moon in the same way now

i feel like a child sometimes

craters for your eyes
and nose and mouth

you are my moon man

4 comments:

  1. I like this poem a lot. I feel very connected to the narrator

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  2. "i feel like a child sometimes

    craters for your eyes
    and nose and mouth

    you are my moon man"

    : /) ,

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  3. I just remembered last part of this (from laurie anderson, End of the moon):

    "And I was in the middle of this long conversation with a friend and she said "Who taught you what beauty is?" and I didn't know what to say... and what is beauty anyway? Something enormous and beyond reason? Or super new and glamorous, or heavy, sleek, deep and complicated. Maybe more like just a single moment. The question kept going beyond me, becoming more and more removed. Like off-off-off-off Broadway. Or sex that's so x-rated it's xxxxx x-rated. What Tom Waits calls people who are so incredibly naked that they actually have no skin."


    --
    (love these things you girls write! )

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  4. well, that comment was actually after reading # 58!

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