santos scribes

everywhere I look 

someone is trying to 

convince me of  

the moon- 

of her dark  

of her new 

of her wax 

of her wane 

-trying to convince me

she wouldn’t be

7.8% full of herself

if her Earth were empty still. 

Am I too just a head of swaying sunflowers beside a fastly driven road? 

Full of exhaust filled seeds

and all the yellow petaled moons yet to come.