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+---
+title: On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site
+genre: verse
+
+project:
+    title: Elegies for alternate selves
+    css: elegies
+    order: 5
+    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