• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 11

Chasing Down the Moon

We chased the moon
in all its naked glory,
in all its celestial history,
in all its legendary mythos,
in all its snake oil fortune telling truths
on those stubborn southern nights.

We chased down
that gnawing justice
that we were never going to feel -
never going to feel bubbling,
never going to feel brewing,
never going to feel simmering -
in our marrow
so hot and so desperate.

We chased a closely guarded secret -
a beautifully adorned,
a lovingly curated,
a tenderly rendered
equality that still today
exists only in phantom fantasies.

We chased the fireflies’ midnight pulsar waltzes,
their noon supergiant rhumbas,
their twilight white dwarf salsas,
their dawn neutron two-steps,
never quite keeping time
with that ancient countryside concerto
like they somehow always managed.


Chasing Down the Moon

We chased that expansive,
that immortal freedom
of curvy and hilly back roads,
blacktop slowly then quickly
giving way to gravel
that eventually and delightfully
gave way to dirt,
magically unveiling and unearthing
all those precious things,
all those delectable, yet intangible, keepsakes
that we never even knew we wanted,
that we never even knew we needed.

We chased down
that vengeful fury of ours,
scorching perpetually -
blindingly -
in our thirsting nuclei
and in our starving ganglia,
across our seared and parched,
our starburnt and neglected skin,
that low boil
occasionally spilling over hotly
to the point of rage,
riotous and rebellious.


Chasing Down the Moon

We chased that darkness -
that all-consuming righteousness -
the one that everyone,
in all their glorious hypocrisy
sought so desperately,
except for us,
who had nowhere left to put it
and who always desired anything else
but the bitter,
but the vile,
but the serpentine lies
that were always,
accompanied by
the disgusting aftertaste
and the tornado-like aftermath
of their ancient and unchanging repression,
of their cruel and unrelenting oppression.

At some foggy,
some misremembered point, however,
you gave up the chase
and any and everything good -
too exhausted,
too battered,
too brutalized,
and now too fearful.


Chasing Down the Moon

So, I alone continued chasing that damn moon -
so damn slippery,
so damn wily,
and so damn mysterious though it is -
utterly and angrily determined to make it,
to command it,
to force it
to lead me from this searing pain,
from this unfair judgment,
from this unjust persecution.

Indeed, I ravenously chased
those same old back roads
to their eventual ends,
just like tracing
the disgustingly hideous,
the perpetually strong,
the entirely too honest,
scar tissue
built up on my tender flesh
from all my boondock suffering
that still noisily demands my shame.


Chasing Down the Moon

And afterwards,
I started chasing again -
chasing these brilliant and vibrant new roads -
anywhere and everywhere,
eventually having an epiphany that,
instead of mere survival,
instead of meager subsistence,
I was now chasing happiness bright
and chasing joy unencumbered,
all without remorse,
all without regret,
all without guilt,
and all without apology,
because I have chased
far worse nightmares
on those dark, moonless nights
that I spent chasing you.