Pale Moonlight

You watch the moon 

On through another night and you might

Understand some things are given to us even

When we don’t ask for them

And we don’t want them but 

Now it’s as if they were always only undiscovered parts of ourselves

That were silent and quiet in their waiting

Threaded through us like dark fabric



Even now 

The dance I do

Not with the devil because the only devil here is 

Under this fleshed weight 

That knows no limits 

Solely because it has to

Life with it’s never ending joke, the one where 

Everyone dies in the end 

Thats what you 

Should be afraid of now, how 

God has damned me and he has damned 

Even you

The difference here of course 

Speaks loud enough to fill the room


Understand this

That I might be a god myself  

Shrouded in black, swallowing your moon

Tyrel Kessinger is a stay-at-home dad of two wild animals. Occasionally, he finds time to write things, some of which can be found at Gargoyle, SLANT (forthcoming), Triggerfish Critical Review, Toasted Cheese, and Cease, Cows, among others. He also serves time as Associate Editor for Grey Sparrow and reader for Flash Fiction Online. Twitter: @KessingerTyrel

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