the moon is essentially gray by Jillian Clark <        > anxiety is the movement this poem can't stop anything like how i'll feel when i fall asleep and feel the fat hanging over my side like an avalanche you can't spit your way out of can't wake me up from a dream where you walked us both straight into the lake or a sunday; sundays are all moons going down a shadow touched scott's face and i could cry, you know, it just sort of falls across his mouth and chin like something that's been waiting only a few minutes but can tell it's going to be awhile