The Night Howls Hysteria at the Moon

Sheets of paper lie shredded on the ground -

words that once made sense, now jumbled,

tumble aimlessly in the wind, someday

strewn in regions so far apart they'll not

call up memories: staying submerged,

until drowned. Fleeting smiles' spent

energy fades in time to the gray haze

engulfing a foggy beach as witness

to the cruel ends that swallow treasures

at the bottom of a dark, cold ocean.

Don't sing me anymore songs or paint

another spring landscape - they haunt

the empty echoes reverberating through

the last lost shades of color reflected

as dusk envelopes the Pacific sunset.

The night howls hysteria at the moon

while dogs bark and cats screech

in drunken alleyways of a forgotten

past: the last line cast to mooring

pillars, slithers awry, all sense defied.

A caterpillar crawls across a leaf's stem

seeking a secure refuge to shed its skin

which will harden into its cocoon,

but the vulnerable pupa offers a tasty

meal before ever having a chance

to form into a chrysalis, leaving no time

to transform into a butterfly.

Sidewalks erupt under foot as discordant

jazz plays in the nearby cafe. Colors run

together, leaving a muddy wash background

coagulating in the sewer of my veins,

and the last violin sonata strains derange as

the night howls hysteria at the moon.