underwhelming confidence
the moon steers clear
it has no answers
which are pertinent to the repairs
of my spaceship
or the swaying balance, left to right
but these are things
you tell to insomniacs
to crushed ice lovers
cured homeless
waste guilty felons fighting in the soup line
porridge hoarders
brazen followers of do-wrong
night watchmen set on the picket fence precipice
watching as the sun sets on empires built
with leftover despondence
out of reach, out of reach
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