The Eye In The Sky

Text:

© marocon
A full moon glares down like an unmanned prison searchlight
Revealing the shadowy denizens in the prison yard of Earth

There are the furtive things we only do at night
When the prison bars of our basest desires have been inexplicably unlocked and left slightly ajar

And so these desires, after some hesitation, often bolt for freedom of expression.

Unsavory acts and dealing and murmurings, the quickened footsteps, the nervous glances, the heightened senses

Night brings all of that out.

But a full moon....
Well a full moon is next level stuff.
The stuff of werewolves, witches and vampires for sure
But that's fiction you say.
Art.
Our giving over to our childhood fears.

And the scientists assure us citizens, in the saness of daylight
That there is no evidence whatsoever that the full moon does anything
Studies show this and studies show that and studies show that studies have been studied to death.

The whitecoats are mothering us, telling us what we desperately want to hear.

There there dear it's okay, it'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

For even scientists are given over to magic incantations.

And we desperately need that reassurance because we know deep down in the stem of our brains that the frightening truth is the magnetic opposite of what they say

Ask the staff at any insane asylum if their wards act any different when it's a full moon. They might cackle at the insanity of such a stupid question.

Ask the cop if the city's any different when that baleful eyes casts it's icy gaze on the streets and alleyways and they'll look at you sideways as if you've taken leave of your senses.

Ask any emergency room attending if it's just another day at the office when the night eye's lid is fully lifted

And if you don't believe what they tell you then ask yourself if you don't become fevered with the full moon, if you haven't left leave of your senses just a little bit, if the wildness in you doesn't start to pace restlessly, whether the shameful things you've done along the way weren't done with the moon's insistence. With the moon's demand and permission and gleefulness.

Ask the animal world mating in orgiastic fashion howling up at their master what's true and what's false.

And then you'll know.

There there, dear, it'll be okay