Moods

What’s looking at you won’t avert its eyes –

what isn’t, won’t admit you’re there.

Such are the wellings-up of consciousness

that flood your psyche’s murky air –

faintly caviling in sleep – grumpy dreaming

beasts’ unhappy sighs; or holy roods

erupting out of lust – sharp phallic crucifixes.  

They’re what you know as moods.

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