Once In A Blue Moon

Midnight makes me
a loose
cannon
and the hand
of gin
has painted me happily
pink and joyful

Hemingway's hiding
beneath my bed
and once
in a blue moon
he waits for me in vain

while I'm wrapped up
in another's
arms
waiting for morning
waiting for something
waiting to know the appropriate move
I should know the appropriate move
by now, right?

But
I don't

I only know that I can't give up these vices
without the fear of being boring
wordless
lining up glasses full of
false idols

wanting to be
at the very least
the mistake you could learn from

I'd do that for you

the rain gives a staning ovation

we don't deserve it
 I don't
I'm reprising the role
it's autopilot, really
I know the lines
the blocking is stale
unspontaneous

only fear keeps
my glass full

my mouth shut
fleeing
with sunlight

and all my clothes,
hopefully.

Once in a blue moon
fear and
false idols align

and the best I can hope for
is that I've got
all
my
clothes.