The blood moon is coming.
Red rising incandescence.
Egg-soft surface filled with cracks.
Gap-toothed grins in the dark.
The blood moon is coming,
hovering somewhere beyond reach.
Manifestations of infestations
calling countless craters home.
The blood moon is coming.
Unsightly pigmentation, unending lamentation.
Spinning globe in velvet stillness.
The fight is lost.
The blood moon is coming
Collapsing firmament.
Nerve-ending blaze, smothering haze.
Give up the ghost.
The blood moon is coming.
A sightless eye, a blinding tear.
The answer to your every fear.
Step up, step in, the truth is here.
The blood moon is coming.
A structure unmade.
Instructions all scattered.
A broken pact.
Reflections everywhere you look.
Trace the outlines of this scar.
Long for something other than this
preconceptual abyss
for the comfort of the
rhyme
a fleeting sense of
purpose
another glimpse of
repetition.
This will end where you end.
The blood moon is coming
trailing toxic dreams and mystic vapours.
It’s smaller than you’d think
up close inside your house.
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