Brought my rabbits in an old gunny sack. When I let them loose-loose, I never got them back, Jack. Every culture has a story about the light that reflects off the surface of the moon from the sun. The deuce in starry skies above, love, They work it out and silence the haters soft as foxgloves. Ancient bamboo rattles from the march of the rabbits who misread old tempest prognosticators and push and shove. They leap into my tryptic, the middle panel resplendent with scores of leporids, more than you can comprehend. Splits the light in the mirror, the silver on the water, ascendant carriers of mysteries in armour. Come up out the water, back to the cheese. If you travel light, you can reach the seas of stars and quasars and comets on the radars, Amesemi from the kush on a maiden with the best tars. Jasi Jetere, lord of siesta ate up all the candy that fell from pinata, sleeps in a sugar coma that confounds Selene, gets one over on the sun so it seems. You can see it fall in the north 'round the pole. The water ebb, failtide roll; the water high, floodtide roll. Arouras on the ice, rainbows glow in the night on the hills bathed in ion flow. Howl at it, give it some trouble. Jump in the stewpot, boil and bubble. Gimme hot moon madness on the double. Space rabbits teleport to off-world puddles.
The last stanza is sort of flat like a reflection on a puddle. In no way is this supposed to be a complete mythos of the moon. The cadence is old school rap.
Fifty State Banana 