Picking Harlequin Moon-Flowers

A loverly Plath and Poe explosion.

The rain scrawls a symphony on my window,
Blurring each creak into a Midnight Monet.
The night clicks away like an erratic wristwatch.
I measure my world in rustles and raindrops.

Sleep being for those who can afford it,
Insomnia is my sweet secret-
The greatest poems only unfold in the dark:
Moon-flowers lighting the way for translucent thought-
Flickering moths: the eyelids of the night.
...
I dilute myself- Getting strung out on metaphors
Some small voice (mayhap the ghost of reason) lectures on clarity-
Clarity must be charity for the unadventurous and truly trite.

The power’s out again and I can’t see my thoughts anymore.
There’s a veil in the sky,
My pen is heavy with harlequin indifference-
But still the words don’t stop.
Measuring moon-flowers in rustles and raindrops…
The Words
Will Never
Stop.