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<h1 class="title">On seeing the panorama of the Apollo 11 landing site</h1>
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<p><span class="line">So it’s the <a href="deathstrumpet.html">fucking moon</a>. Big deal. As if</span><span class="line">you haven’t seen it before, tacked to the sky</span><span class="line">like a <a href="roughgloves.html">rotten hunk of meat</a>, a maudlin love</span></p>
<p><span class="line">letter (the _i_s dotted with hearts) hung</span><span class="line">on the sky like ninety-eight theses.</span><span class="line">Don’t stare at it like it means anything.</span></p>
<p><span class="line">Walk past it quickly, eyes averted.</span><span class="line">Don’t give it the chance to collect meaning</span><span class="line">from your <a href="last-passenger.html">outstretched hand like a pigeon</a>.</span></p>
<p><span class="line">Ascribing it a will, calling it fickle, or</span><span class="line">thinking it has any say or even an opinion</span><span class="line">of your affairs is a mistake: it’s separated</span></p>
<p><span class="line">from you by three hundred eighty thousand miles</span><span class="line">of emptiness, staring at you blankly like a child</span><span class="line">or your reflection when you found your love broken</span></p>
<p><span class="line">in the dark, when time fell apart, broke down,</span><span class="line">started following you around everywhere, <a href="boy_bus.html">moonfaced</a>,</span><span class="line">doggedly asking where you’re going, like you know.</span></p>
<p><span class="line">Don’t try side stepping time, either: it’s only</span><span class="line">a river you’re stuck in, <a href="music-433.html">carrying you</a> under the glare</span><span class="line">of the moon nuzzling closer, cooing in your ear</span></p>
<p>like a dove that escapes into the empty sky at dawn.</p>
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