-a short poem written while listening to

 Bob Dylan’s "Theme Time Radio Hour"-

the grillman living on the moon

runs a diner in a place without atmosphere.

he wants to go outside,

but he needs to keep his helmet on,

besides,–– it’s busy at the counter.

there's a stillness to the outside of life

in a place without atmosphere
and the grillman wants to pull his helmet off,

get out from behind the counter

and run around the moon. but
no one’s ever done that on purpose.

meanwhile, adding to the urgency,

the greasy little radio

sitting on the shelf above the spitting frialator

romances irresistibly:— “there's a blue

moon on the bayou tonight."