The late slipping beer of moon br Pours along the nearest green shadows br Round and shining—frothy, alcoholic br In all its treat: br A burning plate- br A heavy crown to our illustrations br A pull to wildest rhymes br Poetry in its nature br To seduce and intoxicate br And pull apart the proudest br Lyrics of sanity. br br A wild tattler—the moon. br We hear a siren in the distance- br Deep inside the corners of stars br And we easily blame br The distress on him br For he shines his blinking light br Proudly against the trees br And inside the deepest tides of vertigo br And we shoot our speculations br Into his face sinking like fire br Against the cool firs. br He is the monster br To devour in midnight feasts br Because he is so loud in all his glory br And therefore must be the cause.