I think you look at the same moon everywhere.

Written by J.M. Chadwick

The roads are chalked with salt and the trees are just skeletons–
I’m always afraid they may pick up their bones and become burglars. Streetlights
flicker and fade, the lake is frozen over. The restless summer days
are a graveyard in the park, bitter and far away from now. January
never knows how to be graceful. Windswept away
and tousled in the cursing air, January never knows. Had
I learned the dedication of a New England winter, perhaps I
would have never fallen in love with the fall. Though,
I am here now. And I will be here, if you find you need me.

Still, I am crafting designs for the solstice.

I am toying around with Arizona, heavy July. I
have never been to Arizona. I see twisting orange, yellow,
riding in red and sponging the sun. Catching
on fire and wringing it out. Time must feel thick,
and slow, grandfather-clocked and guitar-glossed. Seeing
a world through Coca-Cola bottles–slightly green, slightly blurred–
with the humming of the Earth beneath. I’ve never been one
to wildly want in this way, but I am uncovering the
unbearableness of monotony. There are only so many
lonely streets your camera can shutter at. I think I’d like to find
a new moon to stare at.

What do you think?