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+So it's the fucking moon.  Big deal.  As if
+you haven't seen it before, tacked to the sky
+like a piece of rotten meat, or a maudlin
+
+love letter (the _i_'s dotted neatly with hearts)
+on the sky's door like the ninety-eight theses.
+
+Don't stare at it like it means anything.
+Don't give it the chance to collect meaning
+from your outstretched 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 you by three hundred and eighty
+thousand miles of empty space,