Jon threw up the moon.

Jon once swallowed the sky.
Jon once sat down and got very high.
Jon began to argue with the moon clouds.

He always kept his eyes raised up at night.

Last night, Jon threw up the moon.
Last night, Jon shook the stars out from him.
Jon’s sky pulled itself out from him.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t keep it all inside him.

He thought it might be nice to
drink in milk moon rays.
He thought it might be nice to
take in the dark drenched haze.
He thought it might be nice to
to consume all but the day.

The night was just so good inside him.

Once it was out, he watched it die to the morn.
It was out and he did not want it to leave so soon.
Out in the light, things were so harsh and painful,

Not so soft, endless, unbreakable.

Jon threw up the moon into the morning.
He threw up the stars in a mess of blackish-blue.
Jon threw up the last love he ever had.

It was gone so soon, but would back again with time.