Once
There was an ephemeral man
Precariously balancing on the ephemeral moon
That choleric moon
Always coughing and sneezing
Knocking off that precariously balanced man.

That parochial moon
With its offspring jogging and frolicking about
Maybe one day, that ineffable cough
Will be stopped.

The right thing
What is it?
I wonder
If you do the right thing--
Does it really make
everybody--
happy?

The proletarian moon child
Cogitated this
Along with a myriad of others
While gazing at the ephemeral stars
From the ephemeral moon

Apocryphal writings claimed the answer
But the child couldn't find solace in it.
So he jumped off
To join the vacuous inhabitants
Of the Earth below.