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----
-title: 'On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site'
-project: 'Elegies for Alternate Selves'
-project-order: 10
-genre: 'verse'
-...
----
-title: On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site
-genre: verse
-
-project:
-    title: Elegies for alternate selves
-    css: elegies
-    order: 4
-    next:
-      title: Ars poetica
-      link: arspoetica
-    prev:
-      title: And
-      link: and
-...
-
-So it's the [fucking moon][].  Big deal.  As if \
-you haven't seen it before, hanging in the sky \
-like a piece of [rotten meat][] nailed to the wall,
-
-a maudlin love letter (the i's dotted with [hearts][]) \
-tacked to the sky's door like ninety-eight theses.  \
-Don't stare at it like it means anything.
-
-Don't give it the chance to collect meaning \
-from your hand like an old pigeon.  Don't dare ascribe \
-it a will, or call it fickle, or think it has any say
-
-in your affairs.  It's separated from your life \
-by three hundred eighty-four thousand miles of space, \
-the same distance you stepped away from time that night
-
-you said your love was broken, a crippled gyroscope \
-knocking in the dark.  It was then that time fell apart, \
-had a nervous breakdown and started following you
-
-everywhere, moonfaced, always asking where you're going.  \
-You keep trying to get away from it but it nuzzles closer \
-and sings you songs that sound like the cooing of a dove \
-that will only escape again into an empty sky at dawn.
-
-[fucking moon]: deathstrumpet.html
-[rotten meat]: roughgloves.html
-[hearts]: proverbs.html