dander moon

in my hands
i hold
a manual
solving
lifes petty nuances
yet
the pages
remain
blank

i carry
a self magnifying
glass
yet
gain no insight
from
crystalline betrayal
baked into
silicate
serendipity

there are
too many
questions
yet
the answers
come as riddles
with no
sliver of hope
in the solving

i sit here
alone
on the tip of
the crescent moon
with room
for you
as the stars
fall
in the tear shaped
divots
worn through
the bedrock
of who i once thought
i would be
before
the realities of
surreptitious
duplicity
hidden breadcrumbs
in the smoke signals
or code
in the fluttering
leaves
spread propaganda
besmirching
the good name
so carefully
layered
with deceptive
smiles

the world
shed
the coat of
autumn splendor
to stand
before
the judging
eyes of eternity
nude
with empty
shameless rancor
for a system
in which it has
no choice
but to follow

i would cut
my paper thin
soul
into a series of
happy dolls
holding hands
if i believed
it would bring
you
to my arms

instead
i carve
little notes
onto
the seeds
so as they spread
across the land
anyone
that inhales
the aroma of
earnest affection
smeared
with insipid
poetic longing
will know
love does exist
even if it is
fleeting
dandelion dander
in a hurricane

maybe
the manual
is meant to be
blank
filled in
after the fact
to account
for human nature
or
to not spoil
the surprise
tragedies
invoked
in the
effervescent chaos
that drips
entropic
disenchantment
on the faded
leaves of autumn
in the cold
heart of winter

leave that
for the
poets or philosophers
to answer
as i sit
on the moon
waiting

for you

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