The Glass Terrapin 'as Bewildered As The Godhead' Poem by Leon Moon

As bewildered as the Godhead,
Yawns form a self-setting Sun
Climaxing instinctual dread
Birthing numbered thought from none,
The accepted and presuming
The now, unexpressed exhuming;
Beige wine rolls off the mosquito's tongue,
Galloping cross-examinations
Pulse through the shacks walls, we don't belong,
Wood wells beneath us, blood coats the swans
As they dip their necks in the puddle's flood,
Maurice is the new Christ, it's understood.

I despise my own affection,
The two Seas are Moby's palates
And they trail like oil from the Sun,
Eastern Adam's balls are hot spuds
For loneliness is enslaved
To appearance to be saved;
We are the history of butterflies
Sadistically awaiting a reprise,
Clearly gold-pot imperialism
Is no more than a neologism,
The heart's everlasting furnace thinned
Reaching, smudged by a pause in the wind.


A young girl is covered in dirt and blood;
She holds you as you weep.
You did what the rest do before raping her -
A sequin is left pinned in the throat of little-red-riding-hood;
She holds you as you weep.
You do what the rest did before raping her -