Half Drunk Muse Poetry


The Black Balloon by Gordon Moyer

Go, chase the black balloon,
hazard the fields of snow, the miles of tundra;
follow it into the arctic void, drift with it through icy wastes,
never let yourself grow weary.
Stretch out your arms; call, call after it.
If you should stumble, fall, and break your leg—sleep:
Close your eyes from too much white
and watch the black balloon sail on,
becoming a fleck of dust in your blue mind.
Wake; now look behind you. You have left
pieces of yourself in a twisting caravan of bones.
Why for a black balloon?
There is no more north.
Overhead the black balloon fixes itself to the sky
and becomes the shadow of north,
the dark companion of the pole star.

View bio for Gordon Moyer Published in All Poems 1999-2004

About HDM

Half Drunk Muse was one of the first poetry ezines. It was founded in 1999 and ceased publication in 2006.

Questions/comments? Email samiller@halfdrunkmuse.com.