Moon Full of Halos

Split canvas as the hues of real life run for the hills

Markup discounts satisfies the hope that they had.

Collars of bricks swallow the horizons that bond but don't bail.

Language of light swirls on the edge of midnight's pallet.

Where the tips of tongues touch the lunar light-bulbs in serenades.

Centerfolds unfold the lazy writings of men whom never dreamt true feeling.

Or spoken in true language that vomits the spirits of alternatives in 4/4 time.

The green eyes on hazy horizons that blur the lines with misty eyes as mystics spell their names in the stars.

Call the deepest dreamers up in the hopes that they decline as we recline in the face of pearls that wrap around cosmic fingers when said out loud comes across in tune as garbles as the gutters we crawled from say goodnight.

Tether the concrete as the cold crisps the endings, and the sober express whistles like a gentlemen in the heart of the night.

Saxophones bellow on in slow condensation as the conversations echo, fade, and the it flows out of view.

Hounds follow our scent.

Opera calls our name.

But the sound of light shows illuminate our families having a party.

Gifting the long goodbye of how fast everything is changing.

The digital lanterns pout.

Invisible bonds dissolving.

100 miles through the liquid tears

Backs down we are chasing the rolling stones that keep us in motion.

Follow the light.

Free falling into devotion.

Hearts don't stop when they are racing.