Blue Moon

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spread fingers are useless for grasping
inevitability and disbelief…

is it possible for a blue moon’s light
to lose its grip and slip
into master waves
to drown in a thousand fathoms deep

or for the night to thin, stretched and taught
as wretched twists and turns
of hearts once gold
turn away to sleep one thousand dreams deep

and all the love you have becomes billowing
draft swept under cold sheets;
wrinkles are bolstered by shadows, their carved
blood seeps from wounds one thousand cuts deep

spread fingers stroke contours less lifelike, touch becomes
sharp like cold air inside lungs when it runs loose.

 

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Author: Anita Lubesh

I write poetry/prose/stories/short stories/verses for children/sketch/and have 6 chapters of a novel sitting there like that half eaten trifle in the fridge or bottle of Jack Daniels because something makes you afraid to eat it or drink... right now.. I am a proud Geordie from England's northern hemisphere and the beautiful city of Newcastle upon Tyne. I live with my lovely husband who came all the way from sunny California just for me, and my favourite animal, Bobble, our dog. I am a member of Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth and wish we could all do more, especially today, when such a lot is wrong.

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