The Moon Is the Moon
She would recline
in a lawn chair, turn on
the sprinklers, drop acid
and listen to Dark Side of the Moon.
She said she could feel
the pulse of the universe.
Another friend said it made him
into a glass of orange juice,
moving slowly so he wouldn’t spill.
I went with them to Division Bell,
saw the pigs, passed the pipes.
When they sang Wish You Were Here,
I didn’t wish anything.
I watched them.
The moon stayed silent.
She would recline
in a lawn chair, turn on
the sprinklers, drop acid
and listen to Dark Side of the Moon.
She said she could feel
the pulse of the universe.
Another friend said it made him
into a glass of orange juice,
moving slowly so he wouldn’t spill.
I went with them to Division Bell,
saw the pigs, passed the pipes.
When they sang Wish You Were Here,
I didn’t wish anything.
I watched them.
The moon stayed silent.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson