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The Moya View

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Not a Bird Song

JONATHAN MOYA January 26, 2021

  The not not bird listens to its not not song in the not not tree near my not not door.   And in its song it hears something not not grand compared to all the other not not birds in all the other not not lands.   The not not bird doesn’t know all…

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Persimmons and Pomegranates

JONATHAN MOYA January 24, 2021

I. All through elementary school blonde beautiful lip reading teachers would try to correct my “th”s by snaking their tongues between their teeth and holding it there, ripe cherries tempting me to bite into them.   This was the one thing my withdrawn self throbbing with the first thrusts of male enthusiasm couldn’t stop thinking…

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Sentinels

JONATHAN MOYA January 18, 2021

The sentinels stand silently guarding the monuments from rioting against their shadows. One guard counts the sunshine, the other the dark. The piss and shit, the broken glass can never be really cleaned up. The stench just follows the tour through the purple velvet queue. The glass bleeds the feet of those who sold their…

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Where Waldo Is Not

JONATHAN MOYA January 4, 2021

The greatest where’s Waldo paintings to be have him the tiniest spot at the very top in a population of near clones.   After searching everywhere he will be the last thing you’ll  find, the last thing you’ll see.   Your life will have meaning again after generations of searching and playing the game.                 …

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Housekeeping

JONATHAN MOYA January 3, 2021

We birth a thousand destined broken things:   chair legs detach from their seats under  the weighted repetition of sitting cloth   itself threadbare from the rubbing of muscle.   We glue together the blue China fallen in grief.   The silver nails of the crib are reserved for our rusty coffins.   We mend…

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Steve Earle Sings His Son’s Songs

JONATHAN MOYA December 30, 2020

“Don’t make me bury you,” the elder spoke to the younger over the phone, knowing that his child had inherited all his demons.   “I will support you if you want to do rehab,” he whispered, that old Harry Chapin Song, Cat’s in the Cradle, about fathers and sons circling in his head;   his…

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A Gun and a Hotel Bible

JONATHAN MOYA December 23, 2020

No bad guy talks alone to a Bible in a hotel room with a gun in his hand.   “If a man commits adultery with the wife of his neighbor both the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death…”   the good book says or he thinks in a cold sweat.  …

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The Star

JONATHAN MOYA December 21, 2020

It comes like He came on the longest, darkest night of the longest darkest year proclaiming all the glory of God and the beauty of planets and suns.   The old gods have been exiled to the sky and their movements are barely the echoes of the Grand Breath.   Apollo and Selene have long…

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All Creatures Great and Small

JONATHAN MOYA December 19, 2020

For a week a blue fly buzzed around our apartment subsisting on our Pomchi’s water, kibble and kitchen counter crumbs and dodging attempts by my wife to swat it.   I used to catch flies quite easily in my palm and release them back to their natural estates but since my colon surgery the bugs…

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