So it’s the fucking moon. Big deal. As ifyou haven’t seen it before, hanging in the skylike 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 meaningfrom your hand like an old pigeon. Don’t dare ascribeit a will, or call it fickle, or think it has any say
-in your affairs. It’s separated from your lifeby 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 gyroscopeknocking 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 closerand sings you songs that sound like the cooing of a dovethat will only escape again into an empty sky at dawn.
+So it’s the fucking moon. Big deal. As ifyou haven’t seen it before, tacked to the skylike a rotten hunk of meat, a maudlin love
+letter (the _i_s dotted with hearts) hungon the sky like ninety-eight theses.Don’t stare at it like it means anything.
+Walk past it quickly, eyes averted.Don’t give it the chance to collect meaningfrom your outstretched hand like a pigeon.
+Ascribing it a will, calling it fickle, orthinking it has any say or even an opinionof your affairs is a mistake: it’s separated
+from you by three hundred eighty thousand milesof emptiness, staring at you blankly like a childor your reflection when you found your love broken
+in the dark, when time fell apart, broke down,started following you around everywhere, moonfaced,doggedly asking where you’re going, like you know.
+Don’t try side stepping time, either: it’s onlya river you’re stuck in, carrying you under the glareof the moon nuzzling closer, cooing in your ear
+like a dove that escapes into the empty sky at dawn.