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+---
+title: 'On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site'
+project: 'Elegies for Alternate Selves'
+...
+
+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.