—AND I ALWAYS, I ALWAYS FIND SOMETHING WRONG

The Diary of Regret

I wish I didn’t

love the moon this madly.

It’s a dangerous yearning

to need a light like that,

so out of reach and

full of smoky swagger. 

Tonight, all of the limbs

are humbly bowing,

every wave breaking

soft as a whispered confession

while I can’t catch any air. 

You said I should

bury the mask and

wet sheets

in the back yard,

which is where I am now,

watching Luna gloat,

pulpy and bruised,

looking elsewhere.