If It All Revolved Around Me (stream of consciousness writing 19)

I wonder about them...
(Usually
After an anxious thunderstorm
Or peculiarly clear nights
When the moon
Is a touch over-bearing
And it's halo crisp
So that I have to squint
When I look directly at it
Or sometimes it is after
A sudden gust
Of strapping wind
That makes the house
Slowly pop out its secrets
From the walls
As if that moon were
A lamp in a police HQ
And the heat is being put
On the walls to fess-up
To some violent, but unimportant
Crime)
...the ones I thought I loved
And how their fragments
Chase the light-
Little reflections-
Into the jagged edges
Of outter space...
Slowly rusting
Like an ancient pickup truck
In a hoarders front yard