The Moon - John Cale

The moon her magic be, big sad face

Of infinity An illuminated clay ball

Manifesting many gentlemanly remarks

She kicks a star, clouds foregather

In Scimitar shape, to round her

Cradle out, upsidedown any old time

You can also let the moon fool you

With imaginary orange-balls

Of blazing imiginary light in fright

As eyeballs, hurt & foregathered

Wink to the wince of the seeing

Of a little sprightly otay

Which projects spikes of light

Out the round smooth blue balloon

Ball full of mountains and moons

Deep as the ocean, high as the moon

Low as the lowliest river lagoon

Fish in the Tar and pull in the Spar

Billy de Bud and Hanshan Emperor

And all wall moongazers since

Daniel Machree, Yeats see

Gaze at the moon ocean marking

The face —

In some cases The moon is you

In any case The moon