Endless Moon Memories
The world is a memory recovered under hypnosis,
probably false, but all the more true for it. The moon bears
false witness, endlessly. Every time you say, Look at the moon,
you bear witness as well to this mendacity, this creamy
lie. This is our lease on life, with an option to goodbye.
We always exercise our option, & we always exorcise
our possession, our nine-tenths of the law (what law? where?).
What do we owe to the law, anyway? To the moon?
Hey, the moon owes us everything. The moon owes us a living.
We made the moon. Without us, the moon is one more place
where all this light, all this dark, is just another phase,
a passing phase. Have you seen the moon tonight? A pressing
phrase: drop whatever you’re being, & look. It’s always there…
Amy asks, Why isn’t there a word for
crying in a dream? Lachrymorpheus,
I glibly reply. Nick says, Most people
live a life of desire instead of
life itself. Everything’s a fix, I nod.
Eternally, the Baron writes, And I
should see you again as I saw you…
You of whom I try in vain to say
nothing here… The second-person is
uncommon, I tell my students. Why might
you choose it? And a student raises her
hand: To put you into the story. To
make it happen to you. And my pillow
is wet. And I can’t remember why.
Gregory Crosby is the author of the chapbooks Spooky Action at a Distance (2014, The Operating System) and the forthcoming The Book of Thirteen (2016, Sylph Press); his poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including Court Green, Epiphany, Copper Nickel, Leveler, Sink Review, Ping Pong, & Rattle. He teaches creative writing at Lehman College, City University of New York.