The Curse of the Broken Telephone

The moon doesn’t worry about sunburns

or the murders by werewolves under its mane

what the hell is the heat of the sun to the moon

waiting out the day

in the wings of the afternoon

waiting for its cue

of sunset

to let the earth know it never let it go

there were just factors beyond its control

like tides and times and sunshine that blinds

moonlight

and turns us werewolves

back to mortals

spitting out blood and chicken feathers

wondering what the hell we did to our pillows in our nightmares.

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