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Poem: Super Moon


Facing the final week of preparation
do I step up for Step,
like an NBA superstar exceeding expectations,
refusing to crumble in crunch time?

No. I procrastinate and ponder;
walking outside to observe
not a super star but the Super Moon
promised by the weather woman.

They say the moon effects emotions
as if the larger la luna looms
the more hormones move through space and sky
to stimulate and to manipulate man.

Has this Super Moon molded my mood?
Does this explain my fluctuating focus,
my whirling worries,
my inability to delineate my desires?

No. Science insists this is nonsense:
as absurd as the misguided men
claiming it controlled
the oscillations of ovulation.

Yet, I desired differently
hoping that we would simultaneously see the Same,
that the moon magic might momentarily reconnect
our separated selves through this mass so many miles away.

Of course, California could not cooperate
the nightly overcast consumed the sky.
I saw no stars, no mystic moon.
Science scoffed at my musings.

Maybe you found the phenomenon
seeing the sky clearly from where you now stand
or maybe you sleep soundly
disciplined to deflect all nonsense and nostalgia.

But, I’m still stuck staring,
seeking the Super in the cloudy chaos
clinging to that which cannot exist
instead of succumbing to Science.


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