Liar’s moon lullaby…

 Liar’s moon lullaby…

I told the liar’s moon, eleven anthrax shots given to me by the Army. I have forgotten more than I remember.

I search my deaden mind for faces, for the wonderful places I have seen and things lost.

Tonight I sat with a brown-hair lady wearing a multi-colored Summer dress, soft shoulders tempting me and a smile of gold by the sea. I told her, she was so damn beautiful, you could be my muse, my siren?

She looked hard into my face and she whispered, dear poet, I see your sad eyes, in your eyes, I can see regret, joy, great sadness and ancient things.

I told her, you are a Poet’s dream, eyes of coffee-brown and you make me wish for untold kisses and great adventure. I was told you are crazy and wild in heart. I love crazy. Crazy does what she want. Tonight we sit together with the half-moon above the Monterey bay, the Liar’s moon. Liar’s moon loved the crazy. The half-truth accepted by us who love the sea, the tequila and the lemon and we love the song of the sea.

Please dear Beatrice, my Marcella, my Bella, we are just Gypsy souls wanting everything, stealing just enough. Thank you for the Spring, thank you for making believe someone could care for me. You have taught me, love can be sweet, the mercy of equal heart. A blessing.

She smiled and she looked at the liar’s moon. She sat between my legs and I embraced her tightly and she whispered.

“Crazy is, crazy does.

Being sane, is insanity.

Pretty is, sometimes isn’t so pretty,

we, who love the liar’s prayer,

we know, words, just words till we can keep our promises.

Words spoken in the three-am hour,

just gifts.

When love is far-away, loneliness make us,

need more.

I want us,

to lay bare with the windows open,

wide open,

us, holding silence,

create a portrait of lovers,

who excited the crazy in each other.

We didn’t steal or borrow from each other,

we painted with tender hands and fingers’

a landscape of perfect union,

where lover’s fall into the salvation of contentment.”

I kissed her neck, her face and her lips. I whispered to her. You are my endearing love dear Marcella, my lovely Beatrice, my Italian girl miracle. I know you are a Gypsy gal traveling our world, a wandering soul who cannot be locked away.  Thank you for the midnight dances by the sea, the slow dancing in the city of lights, San Francisco. Thank you for blessing Big Sur with your bare-ass dancing with the wild sea. I loved watching the sun fall and the moon rising with you. I loved when we watched the sun rise from the east and held silence. We didn’t need to speak. You are my miracle dear Beatrice.

Beatrice Marcella left me in middle May. I gave her, all the money I had. She had spend all her traveling money. She gave me warm and sweet kisses at the Monterey airport and she whispered, please don’t be sad and she whispered, C’est la vie, until we can meet again. Please remember me, when, the liar’s moon is above. Please Johnnie, don’t lose the crazy. The sane folks cannot see the beauty of our world. They become older, sadder and colder.

 I whispered to her. You didn’t break my heart, you made my heart sing. Please be careful and have fun my kind muse.

                                 Dancing Coyote