Imaginative side of the moon
Tom Waits, one of my favourite singer-songwriters, may or may not have spent a lot of time gazing at the night sky while lying on his back in a gutter, but he sure ended up with a lot of descriptions of the moon, as other bloggers have noted far more cynically.
Recently he and Iggy Pop were having a coffee on the sidelines of the annual B List Slipping to C List Performers Congress in Reno, Nevada, and Tom let loose with the full stream-of-consciousness litany of literary lunar allusions.
Poor Iggy kept trying to get the check, but as Waits observed in yet another song, “You can’t find your waitress with a geiger counter, cause she hates you and your friends, and ya can’t get served without her …”
The moon’s all up, full and big — apricot pit in an indigo sky.
You wear a dress, baby, and I’ll wear a tie, and we’ll laugh at that old bloodshot moon in that burgundy sky.
Outside another yellow moon has punched a hole in the nighttime.
Looks like a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue ball moon rollin’ maverick across an obsidian sky.
The moon’s a yellow stain across the sky.
November only believes in a pile of dead leaves and a moon that’s the color of bone.
The Moon is a cold chiseled dagger and it’s sharp enough to draw blood from a stone. He rides through your dreams on a coach and horses and the fence posts in the moonlight look like bones. See the rest.
