Man In The Moon

Man in the moon, what power do you hold?
I walk on your hand as you scribble tiny dots,
in the sky with your scepter, God knows where you are –
this is a tale of a pining clock;
clad in plume and a shining mask,
black cloak in the air where there’s nothing but soot,
the great Gatsby ghost in a Lolita frock
waits by the kitchen, and every door in the house.
How do I tell you I was his doll?
How can I reach you, and hold you at all?
Man in the moon, can you steer your helm
can you take me somewhere we both can dwell,
where all is grey, yet all is pink
I think I am your daughter, but you’re away from me.
You and I, like bloodline,
beat like the ocean, as our flames grow spines,
In the years that pass between us,
I am lost mid-sea in my altered state,
Big ships bolt through big waters and I
look through your pink eclipse and your saltwater plates.
Man in the moon, how can I stay?
I am not half of you,
you are all I am.