Blue Moon

“There’s an angel on a ribbon hanging from her armoire door. There’s a cupid with his feet crossed on the bird-cage by the door. There’s a baby angel drummer, his eyes are open wide; and two more tiny cherubs on the mantle side by side.” – Too Many Angels – Jackson Browne

Not so long ago I left my rented loft in the shadow of the freeway and said a long goodbye to the ghost I left there in that perfect writers’ garret and snuck away in the deepening night with the ocean at my back; looking east.

Tonight an ancient breeze carries the smell of the lake and its piney phantom scent seeps through my castle walls that keep me distant and wisely at bay from this supernatural night. The full blue moon cuts through my flickering candle flame carrying the sweetness of life still and alone on dark eyes; an orphan, as the real world recedes and my land of dreams awakes again in silhouettes of the unknown; another facet on heart cut obsidian jet-black volcanic glass formed in the rapid cooling of this dark, warm, narcotic American night.

I got a call from the girl on the half-shell who’d grown weary of the famine in her soul and the feasts of her senses and the nights she’s seen inside her empty prison walls. So I traded in the darkness for the cool of the evening and the power of her sweet tenderness while the Jazz-man moons lunar gravity baring down on me full of grace rises to meet my journey; her glowing disc enticing the tides in both the oceans and me.

We met not more than a moon rise away at the check-out line. Her straw-colored hair and bright baby blues had the love stirring in my soul; she was clean and cool and lovely. We flew straight into the night like a fire in the cavernous darkness at the heart of the beats pounding in the frontier of my chest. A dream of passion that makes the heart scream occurs only rarely; maybe once in a blue moon.

Her face bathing me in light like the warmth of the sun she appears an apparition as she folds in my arms; a memory of sweet childhood dances below the rectory, vapors in my arms she slipped through my fingers like the sand along the shore that scrapes the ground beneath my feet and all too soon she vanished. I turned my back to the empty sea, standing lost in a raging ocean with the sun burning low; looking east.

Some hours later I found a stool at the coffee spot and conversation that’s at a premium here. I looked around to find the girl with the braids smiling wildly from some mystical inner depth. She is a cipher, unknown, mysterious and a bit ill-omened. But man, that smile; it’s gonna be the end of me.

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About circusinpurgatory
Nick Masesso Jr’s fictionalized short stories, poetry and prose have been published in the Starry Night Review, Elegant Thorn Review, Language and Culture.net and Vagabond Press; the Battered Suitcase. His latest book “Armor of Innocence” and first book “Walking the Midway in Purgatory, a Journal” are available on-line and through bookstores.

2 Responses to Blue Moon

  1. Reblogged this on Nick Masesso, Jr..

  2. … Departure, Arrival, a Haunting Summer Wind under a Blue Moon Majesty. A Mystic Journey Descends from Ether, Resting in the Throe of Mystery.

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