A Full Buck Moon

I have lost the narrative impulse if not the ability for now.  I just deleted some gibberish prose poem fit for an aspiring moron.  I must read now, not write.  Sickness has put me behind.  Am I too late for summer fun?

Last night was the Full Buck Moon.  I did not sleep but slumbered in a waking dream full of hidden desire.  Naive Juliet called it "an inconstant orb," she too anxious to contemplate its longer cycle.   But it is reliable and dependable.  Here's hoping it was good for you.