jerome moore

blue for our quarry
blue for our corner restaurant
blue for the late nights
blue for the cape lights
blue for your voice
as blue as the sea
pulling the sky, pulling rivers
pulling salt
pulling for me.


the fields of Verdun,
its windmills
the Meaux,
all in search of you.
The Meuse,
Rhineland,
Seine.
reflections I ripple through
narcissistic
nefarious sea under dock
I feed my itch
quench my thirst
mirror mosaics break me and suck into shore
As Your perfume gets sucked into the salty sands
I go on growing
Even as you begin to wilt and die
I still bud in the spring.


The land is a hall of mirrors
a maze of nerves, flesh and bone,
hills valleys forests...
my feet always itching
on this road Im hitching