if I have to sleep, I’ll sleep, but the moon isn’t there anymore what you see is a pale reflection, the moon is self-generated light what I mean when I say self-generated light I mean a solar sail like a giant curtain dragged behind the moon & keeping it in perfect orbit above the earth’s surface the real moon is gone, taken apart by scientists from NASA, EU and the KGB “the moon” is just a thin metal disk powered by that solar sail some people think the moon itself is the sail but I think the sail is deployed behind the moon trapping light from the sun, powering the engine that keeps it in orbit you can see it if you telescope real close astronauts know this—high-flying pilots know this— just a few lousy miles across, the thin metal plate reflects the sun’s light and the earth’s shadow just the way the moon did well some people think it’s thin, durable mirror but I think it’s metal—highly polished metal that resists the pings and arrows and chips you’d normally get from junk up there at the front door of space— some people say it’s the frontier, but I say it’s the front door of space The real moon is gone Scientists took it away and left a lot of junk behind Imagine all the lovers without a moon— the bad poets—Jungian psychologists—I call ‘em “spychologists”— basing their poems and prognoses on nothing but a thin metal plate hovering above the earth Oh, the tides have nothing to do with the moon they never did, the tides are created by the sun Everybody born with their moon in Aries through Pisces has to find another planet for their sign Your lives are meaningless NASA and the Russians have stripped the moon of meaning and replaced it with a thin solar sheet The moon people have nothing to believe in The President knows this in his Oval Office The Oval Office is a symbol of the moon! He’s fighting to bring the moon back but he can’t tell you, no one would believe him and he’s got to keep his credibility intact He knows why women are going crazy their ovaries so accustomed to the moon’s spiritual pull— they have evolved for millennia to respond to it— Remember Jesus has a house on Mars—but NASA doesn’t want you to know— there are pictures Jesus would have to be eighteen feet tall to be seen in this resolution some people say eighteen I think that’s impossible but he’s the son of God so you never know The scientists don’t know The Moon the wolves howl at, the one we see dipping into the Western sky—our Western sky that belongs to us—remember the flag that was planted there? It’s in a museum in Russia with Lenin’s tomb— the Russians must hand over the moon— a thin sheet of glass—some people say —but I say it’s metal sometimes visible during the day reflecting the sun’s light and the earth’s shadow in a perfect imitation of the real psychological moon. The one in our dreams has been stolen and the scientists have stolen our dreams. Only the President and his queue of anonymous advisors know this.
Poem ©2021 Dennis Formento
All rights reserved
Dennis Formento promises never to write a bio longer than the average poem. He lives in Slidell, Louisiana, Mississippi Bioregion, USA. St. Tammany Parish co-ordinator of 100,000 Poets for Change. Author of Spirit Vessels, Cineplex, Looking for An Out Place. Poem “Amarcord,” appeared in English and Italian, in Americans and Others: International Poetry Anthology, Camion Press, 2nd ed., 2020. Poem, “the floe of ice,” performed with Simone Bottasso on organetto, is on Youtube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlXNe9lKkxg