twilight cynosure

the night arrived a low
and slowly roiling paroxysm
taught me everything I know
about the alchemy
of lies and truth
and the machinations of the heavens

yet everything still gets reduced
to a single, circadian bruise
a vestige of my
failed attempt
to slay the somnambulist moon

and since that night my plants will only
grow towards artificial light
beamed in gallons
twice distilled

and straight into their blood