Hunters Moon

[mroning tide]

Hi Philatone
Thanks for your feedback. I've played about with the second last verse. I think I'll take some time to think through the imagery as you mention.
Thanks again

This is the month
of the death of the father,
the month of desultory grief.
October, tensile, resonates to
the tarnished metallic despair
of unlove, bluntly stabbed into the gut

This is the month of undigested sin,
sitting in the mineral sharp stomach.
Cut adrift from all names, nights
lying exposed on bone cold streets,
cold and callously pure.

These are the nights of flickering film stills,
the chaff that blows unhomely in
unanchored hours.

I have danced in the wake
of a long past vessel, hidden
face down from the shadow
spat out, echoing tears reach, pressing unbearably
into the sockets of my eyes

This is the month of the Hunter's moon
holding me captive
all your years.