Blue: Gray: (18 Pills A Day)

They did not know
That it would be so
That there would be a moon
And the moon would be so
Eclipsed.
                  —Gertrude Stein:  Part V, Stanza LXV -(Stanzas in Meditation)-
 

The moo:            n is blue:                            and the min:      d is gray:
              I take 18:                    p:              ills a day.

Billy says: G:      limp: se the earth:            in helio: tropic

sinking dee:      per into the acci:        dent:                    Sign:      al of di: stress:
      save our souls:        lase:   red to the sur:    rounding gala:      Xies:
              while we remain grieving in collective rot:         ation.
 

(It had not to do with the moon: either. It had to do with longing. As in: I need cock to
write: Put that on your careful walls)

Your sec:          ret is a moon:                              or: biting you:                worst is when:
            the came:            o itself              is out of con:       text.

The stubborn moon:

Elects Its Own Orbiting: Forfeits The Planet By Injecting A Wound Beneath The
Cezannian Surface: Designates Class As The Only Difference Outside The Body:
Avoids Ideology In Favor Of Metaphysical Meandering. Forces Stragglers To
Orbit Itself Like Inebriated Micro-Moons. Lets Miss Guggenheim Know Exactly
Where She Bought Her Aesthetics.

From my pill-strewn:        terrace:                  I divo:    rce this moon-clut:
Te: red universe.              I advocate              the agitated or:    bitter      as null and void.

While you set the pace:                to have your say:                I take 18 pills:                    a day.

Pushing the scan but:       ton:        our cult:              ure divi:              des zip:                per
style:                                            three seco:          nds of each is enough to teach.      Per:
chance: Per: chant: Per: Haps

You got me: singing threes:                      Per: Haps Per: Haps Per: Haps!

                                    Your moonish facts        have stalled        at level blue:
My body severed          during level gray:                                     I take 18
                pills          a day.

I’m sorry: Ronald Palmer is pending. He for:        get his mouth                    can open:
              asking if my death                        will happen                    in the 18th century:
                            when Herschel discovered a small moon                  of Saturn:
 

Is a moon a planet’s child? Does the weight of the earth change with each new
skyscraper?       Maybe that’s why humans fall in love with moons:
because they appear light and glow:                      refusing our groveling touch.

Flash Back to when he bites his tongue:  then pum:       mels me in a tight neck clutch.
              Then makes me suck:                         his nine year old penis:

Not everything that orbits              is a moon. Each blue pill              is a moon:           each
yellow pill is a sun:

Ente:      ring the body      like floating facts:          with a dis:               sol: ving atmo:
            spheric glow.                  A moon gives you a view of your death.
I ask the blue pills nothing new. I ignore the yellows sounding me gray. I take:

(18 pills a day.) I suppose I want to revolt in degrees:        exist outside that trend
            of wobbling:        out of orbit.                    Pro: pane          ec: static:
            Pro: fane            em: phatic:

as Mir sp:          ace stat:              ion dropped into the gorge:          ous:
            greenish:            Atlantic.
The sky is cut into rectangles and placed evenly above me. She slips haphazardly
                        into meaning in the might garden of May and me.

I too will be:      in orbit soon:                 And So Will You My Love. (and so will you).