Pit poem

[DieterM]

My night-sky feels ancient,
exhausted dome of a cathedral
that sinful daytime thoughts
and deeds have blackened,
the sinners fast asleep now,
unpunished, beyond remorse…
Glowering at the full moon, I
imagine you out there
howling your new werelust
up to stars that have died
a long long time ago
and still twinkle uselessly.
Smoke columns rise
from countless suburb chimneys
like snores or tempting snakes.
Slouching behind the window,
I do what hapless poets
always do. I mope and write
about the moon.