/Quarter Moon Night/ (GregSherman/PhiloVivero)

he set out into the digital wasteland
in search of life, happiness, or meaning
a lost soul hoping to find something
or someone to save him from himself or t.v.
the flickering screen before his sleepy eyes
spread out like an ocean of fire and light
the chair became his ship and he sailed out
into the fire ocean on a quarter-moon night

    the phone rang and she spoke / her inviting words "genesis' residence"
    with a voice that told of eons / of perfection and renaissance
    and a trace of hope for more than / faded nights in old moon light
    but she awoke alone and naked / in the empty quarter-moon night

she arose from her bed, listening to the silence,
straining for some comfort in the lack of violence
asking for it, "please! is there anyone out there?"
praying for the melodic beeps, can anyone really hear?
but only cars driving through stale black puddles
and the creaks of the house and flickering screen
like a fire on the ocean in her mind she struggled
to discover for herself what it all could mean

    the phone rang and she answered, said her name and he spoke
    his voice, like hers, held a need / spawned by the years alone
    and a trace of expectation / for her to make it all right
    but he awoke alone with only / the t.v. flickers and quarter-moon night

he arose from his chair and went to the phone,
fingers trembling on the ephemeral keys
the off-tune tones ringing in his ears as
her beautiful voice answered his nonverbal pleas
"genesis' residence" -- and the burning feeling
of the ocean's fire grew until the words came
"i love you," he whispered and with a shiver
he hung up the phone, but she knew his name

    the phone rang and he answered-- "hello?" he whispered
    her voice on the line scared him, but this he had desired
    he longed to climb the mountains in her sky-blue eyes
    and feel the life ebbing between her soft, brown thighs

they touched each other through the fog
of the digital wasteland's electric lines
they felt each others' fire on the burning ocean
and then each other, for the first time...
they held each other in a real embrace
under the quarter-moon's blue sharp shard
no more praying for the ring and the race
or extended inattention of the digital guard--

    the phone rings and i start awake / from my dreaming state
    i answer the phone to an eery pause / as the clocks hands point to late
    then a digital voice selling pictures / of artificial quarter-moon nights
    i sit tired and quiet in the silence / and flickering t.v. light