Creative Traditional:

[MDMH89]

The sun romances the moon and on a balcony where night nor day lays tread a devil holds an angel tender in its loving grasp, stuck between time.

Hearts beat not in this swift fleeting moment; blood that boiled in rage now gives way to the passion of a flowing red river and people play craps in the alleys, not for money or guns, but for Lilly petals and bullet casings. The shotgun shoots confetti and children play tag with the blunt end of the butcher knife. The devil on the balcony looks not but into the brown eyes of the angel and the angel into his blue.

The sun romances the moon and clowns wear black face paint. Pigs wear suits and hide from the children playing tag. Babies burst forth from the wombs of there mothers and crawl over to there heads as they fall bleeding from the stomach. Placenta covered babies kiss there dying mothers on the chin and, in love, sing lullabies before there long sleep. The babies step on her face as they walk away.

Monkeys find bananas filled with gold beneath the peel and throw millions of golden fruits onto the floor, they are no good to eat. The fruits ferment and become alcoholic milk bottles for the babies in armies wielding shotguns of confetti and bloody footprints.

The devil still stands atop the balcony angel in hand and; lips meet atop the balcony as it engulfs itself in flames. Scream not the angel or devil engaged, they just stare and let the fire slowly turn them to ash.

Drunken babies return to the tummies of there mothers and close themselves up inside. They shovel the blood back in and mommies wake up.

The children playing tag turn the butcher knives around and slaughter the now suit-less pigs. They take the hearts and leave the rest in banana peel piles. The carcasses and fermenting golden fruit sink into the ground and become red diamonds; blood diamonds they'll call them.

The sun romances the moon and Lilly petals as well as dice and gamblers are filled with holes in the alley because bullets cool off. lead fills the hearts of black-faced clowns and they fall like sad dominoes, frowns becoming smiles on the way down.

The sun leaves the moon.
Just a one night stand.

It rises to the world only to find mothers with stitched stomaches roaming with bloody footprints on their face. No one knows of the foot on their face because no one speaks of it to another. No one speaks at all; and there are no mirrors in this world. So no one will know until the babies tell them. But there's no way of telling when they'll come out to play again. They don't want diamonds, the ash of angel or devil, dead clowns and gamblers, holy dice or Lillie's. They didn't like what they saw when they came out anyway, they went back home.

Maybe they'll never know, and so it goes in a world where the sun, for one night, romances the moon.