Untitled--a poem

[lunesque]

The moon was red tonight;
locked into a parade of tickertape stars.
It reminded me of the old streets of Hollywood,
of pilgrims who came to see silver screen ghosts;
the dying praying at the altar of the dead.

I am a pilgrim
paying homage to your bloody shrine;
a sacrament to your superficial thirst,
each step bringing me closer to the end.