nightcrawler off the hook

aging is the theft of spark

i remember

impracticalities kept me

reeling long nights.

i'd been baited by the moon;

i've taunted the sunrise

and soothed with her come whole

morning.

i have been thinking in decades,

counted my pink whispered sunsets,

i've crashed into asphalt just

to wink at the moon,

that old white bellied lover

but dawn, 

the absent forgiving muse,

this morning, she wasn't as

cruel as i had been.

she too waits for death:
we are both middle aged

yet she ascends unabashed

while i am infinitely tired

and full of flameless excuses.