nights under canopies under
stars, obscured,
the light pollution pouring down
coastal highways from big
cities, where the
big kids play baseball, or banker; or
cloud cover pulling over
a static blinking light,
a never-moving flight crew, as
seen from your veranda,
but

i ****** up.

and, now,
the sun won't rise,
the stars won't shine,
the moon is just a piece of rock,
just more of the same.

so,
if it's broke,
don't fix it.
don't fix me.
don't bother waiting.
don't call.