two in the morning/Trenton Bebermeier

two in the morning
in early december.

i cant sleep so i go
to take a piss off
the deck.

i look up as i 
usually do,
at the stars or clouds 
or whatever celestial beings 
are floating above
me tonight.

the moon has waxed 
to just short of its
potential, and it
casts a sullen gray
into the clouds.

i look at the treeline.

in early winter,
no life moves
so late at night.

not even the wind.

gangly jack pines
billow upwards in 
haphazard fashion,
and stand eerily still.
when the clouds cast shadows,
they become the feathers
of a crow.

without a breeze,
the world feels dead,
and all that lives on
are myself and the clouds…
i wonder how they are moving
so gallantly without wind?

as the downy sky passes
overhead, a puncture 
in the fluff
perfectly frames the moon.
its light darts into
my eyes, and i
turn away,

then step through the sliding screen,
and it rushes to clap shut
behind me.

---

Trenton Bebermeier is a third year student majoring in Music Performance and minoring in Japanese. He enjoys reading literature by Jack Kerouac, Charles Bukowski, Leonard Cohen, Aldous Huxley, Natsume Soseki, and Hemingway. When he is not reading or writing, he is making music and sound with whatever means currently at his disposal, as well as trying his hand in every creative medium available.