How ****** it is,* is all
I ever hear about
Things.

So polish the ****.
Put make-up on the
Pig.

On every piece of space-junk
There is a thin film of
Astronaut's

Business,
They tell me.
So look past it.

We're all
Partly
Soil;  

There's crap in everything.
Focus on what isn't.
The Devil's in the

Details, so I suppose
God is in the
Rest.

Show me a sunset.
And don't point
Out

The
Dying
Light.

Or the lack of
Poetry on
A blank

Page. The paper had
Nothing to do with
It,

Nor the night skies with how
The sun came
And

Ruined
It
All.