This moon was a planet just like earth, only it is even deader
The pistols of its flowers are the only protection
Against insects, which were more preoccupied with the
Half-rotted inhabitants soiled to the brim
Under their own garments
History tells us of their blood
Flowing down one leg and up the other
Memories insoluble to their conscience
Memories outside themselves in a twisted prank
Played upon them by dogs tired of chasing their food
Thin oxygen curves their posture substantially
Flashes of their purpose stripped to skeletal ornaments
Of meat and resin from animal marks
Flicker over the loudscreen
Machines hum quietly in the distance
A few naive inhabitants wander foolishly after sundown
In search of black spots
But no one leaves this moon carefree of memory
Survivors often match their hands upward
Towards greater satellites
Wronged in the eyes by a million miles
And a million more bodies to sift through
The smaller creatures have the secret
To pinning us down to the dirt:
When they breathe, they inspire
When we breathe, we expire
