Lunar Cycles

Sorrowful mirror

trembling like the edges of a frigid lake,

cloaked in unwanted lustre

laid bare through the Sun’s ravenous glare.

Luminescent boa, 

she sets herself aflame,

heated to the dead white winter,

filled with snow ash, falling around her like stars.

She fizzles like alka-seltzer, bubbling through the dark,

mourned by ekphrastic night, human caricature.


Diana’s body hangs, languid and drained.

She dreams of Actaeon’s hound.

Dusty sclera, pox-marked tit,

unwilling Prometheus 

born in pain.

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