SWAMPED BY THE MOON

The moon stands stagnant and still. The room remains stubborn. The windows are wide, so the moon slides in, gliding to the bedpost as you shake and you roll towards the night that surrounds. You offer your body to moonlight, you offer your soul to the rabbit in the moon. Structures sit in tandem with movement, they are a river of exertion compared to the roll of your feet on the bedroom floor. You stare at the stumps that are your cascading feet, glowing sharp in the bathed moonlight. You stare hard at the unforgiving walls of the room. You could ricochet off those walls for an age or more...and never really notice. We are strange little creatures. We yearn for more, but always expect less. We sit and we stand, we appreciate and we stagnate. Why are we waiting for the rabbit in the moon, when we could be stretching moonbeams to forge the road? You look to the window, look to the furious black of the night. You look to the silver shadows of the moon, and you shake and roll towards the night that surrounds.