Twentieth Century Mediterranean Postcard Poem by gregory collins

A large pale moon enters my mind;
A mind made of shadows speaking out in their sleep,
and the evening sun has sunk to its bottom;
which floats away like a twentieth century postcard.

and in fiction that is perfection,
and that can certainly certify a human life.
But my ears are shaving off an old man's full head of hair,
and after trying philosophy from those who have no god,
and smashing beer bottles in the golden dust by the gate of a church.

I will choose you with your hairy legs around my ribs.
No longer out of my mind as you are in a prison uniform and well used by me;
An abandoned silver mine seductively being tender:
A little town who married a man on the wall of the sky.