where the moon goes at noon

foolish, foolish people, frightened people,

frightened by the war, frightened by the times,

frightened by the stranger with the dusty coat.

ready to run if he should get too close, ready to shout for help, ready

to look away if he should look in their direction, ready to flee his eyes

and their guileless humanity.

by imperceptible movements, minute adjustments and interminable

periods of immobility the heart of man slips it's leash and jumps

the neighbors fence to kill his rabbits.

and the blood brings with it a rush of horror stretching back a million goddam

years and then the neighbors throat (itself) is in our jaws and then his wives throat and

before the day is done we've seized his children, made them prostitutes and


we parade them across his front-yard in dirty diapers or make them sit on the hood

of the broke-down family car with snot all over their faces or at the kitchen

table while mom pours beer in their Cornflakes and for a niggling moment

his blood is in our bellies and our hands are up his daughters skirt and we're

not afraid of anything.

god set the stars in their places to teach man about the emptiness between the stars

and the sun he placed so that man would fear the night but the moon,

who knows why the moon is so deathly pale or where it goes

at noon?


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