Lunacy

by

Hay Machine

It is not what it seems
the frosty whiter light of the Moon
refridgerated blanket of the night
woven of cold moonbeams

The blood-warming orange of the day
its heat and passion burning from within
bounced at night off the barren orbitor
for no benefit its light coldly sucked clean

Beneath all science there is art
and the squirrell also has to play his little furry part
his blood-rush urges and his native skill display
intimate knowledge of our collective lunacy

NEXT?
Why don't you look at A Ham, Not a Poet
by: Hardy Parkerson
from: Lake Charles, LA, US

To visit all of Hay Machine's poems, click HERE

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