Chapter 18 - Yowl

Oh the Moon, My sweet! My guiding light,

you come to me in dreams so forceful and massive

so near to me

you reflect our brilliance back

That storm on the horizon; contained upon the cities

turmoil withering trees

stuck up in the mind fields

broiling upon cascades

slick within the everglades

prairie weathers prickling new pointed parry-mores

Without wielding nor yielding common grounds

our echoes scream; resound; confounded, confused, re-bruised

stalking - ensnared

the mouse