terrible suns have terrible moons

on the verge where the everlasting digs it’s grave with a tiny spoon
and the grim wings of a desolate hornet dim the sun with transparent futility
beating against the rock in the sky and the bitter waste of the the blue,
where terrible suns have terrible moons
masquerading as gods or a grotto of foam and indentured wings
clipped in the prime mover . where burly wanderlust is as supersonic
as ever was. but your prayers 
are as molasses
gonna.
.