It was a long slow wailing of moon that drove them mad it was a sound that only dogs could hear in their beds at night the sound would draw them out to darkness hearing the moon’s golden horns like a trumpet playing moonlight into sound poets came out of their cocoons to listen to the magic of moon in trees stars in their hair sea in their ears all the dogs in the world could not match the strange perfect harmony of the wind’s madness but they tried every night to bring the sky down with their strange howling circus mesmerized by moonbeams caught in the cacophony of starlight and the dust of a million harvested frogs and the dna of a thousand stranded motorists honking like geese in the asylum.

typing
with my eyes closed
a leap
into the chasm of mind
with no parachute