I Crept Past Andrea’s House In The Moonlight,
Craven, Unworthy, So Far From Being Who
I’d Said I Was As That Moon Is To Cheese, And I
Paused In The Shadow Of Two Massive Trees,
Wishing I Could Send Images Into Her Dreams
That Would Show Her How Little I Actually Am,
Not A Wise Man, A Rich One; Instead, Just A Fool
With A Penchant For Boasting To Try To Get
Laid. I Gave Up, And, In Failure, Went On To My
Home, Where, By Morning, I’d Rebuilt My Liar’s
Facade. When I Ran Into Andrea, She Shook Her
Head. -Å—i Have Learned Who You Are. You
Appeared In My Dream As An Insect, A Flea.
Now, I Want You To Leave Me.- I Did. In A
Field, On A Rock, I’m Unsure. Unrespectable
Certainly, False To Myself And To Everyone, I
Wonder Whether I’m Able To Enter The Minds
Others, Who Sleep. Is It Possible? Is The Moon
Made Out Of Cheese?