reduced to the essentials.

the written word and all her beauty, bountiful and rhythmic. the times, robyn red and charged.  we all pull inspiration from somewhere, something, someone. a grown and new distance has provoked and provided enough.

this came on in the radio in the truck the other night and reminded me of anew, reminded me of current, reminded me of…the moon

The moon her magic be, big sad face
Of infinity. An illuminated clay ball
Manifesting many gentlemanly remarks

She kicks a star, clouds foregather
In Scimitar shape, to round her
Cradle out, upsidedown any old time

You can also let the moon fool you
With imaginary orange-balls
Of blazing imaginary light in fright

As eyeballs, hurt & foregathered,
Wink to the wince of the seeing
Of a little sprightly otay

Which projects spikes of light
Out the round smooth blue balloon
Ball full of mountains and moons

Deep as the ocean, high as the moon,
Low as the lowest river lagoon
Fish in the Tar and pull in the Spar

Billy the Bud and Hanshan Emperor
And all wall moongazers since
Daniel Machree, Yeats see

Gaze at the moon ocean marking
the face -

In some cases
The moon is you

In any case
The moon.

- Jack Kerouac

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