half of the sky, full of the moon

Polluted is the city with paradoxicity
With a reddish moon impaled on the sky
Like a withered hibiscus in a garland
Smog is the answer to a why that's dead
But gets resurrected in October
Because that's when festivals begin
And we light up to lighten a darkness
That hitherto illuminated the way
That's the paradoxicity polluting this faded city
That lies tessellated in the void
And misshapen in the wind
And stretched in the hours
And goosebumped on the skin
And furiously paces
In a mind that dies
For an unforgettable amnesia
that memory denies.