Everything you need to have a beautiful morning, sleepyhead.

Morning Lit: Water on the Moon

on November 15, 2011

Jesse Nevel

water on the moon

Water on the moon
once a wild conjecture
appears to have become
an established fact.

Jubilant NASA scientists announced
they had found the tell-tale signs
in the form of ice and vapor
lurking in a shadowed crater
at the moon’s south pole.

A rocket
and a trailing spacecraft
slammed into the Cabeus crater
four minutes apart
kicking up a plume of material

The pole
turned out
to be a jackpot.

26 gallons worth of water
in the form of vapor

How much water
there may be
the rest of
the moon is unclear.

“Can you believe it? Isn’t this cool?”
said Peter Schultz,
a planetary scientist
a team member for a mission called LCROSS

Lunar Crater Observation
Sensing Satellite

”After the Apollo program ended,
we concluded:
the moon was dead.”

“Now what we’re seeing
is a place
with a reservoir of ices
that have been collected
over billions of years.”

Where is the voice
of reason
to rudely interrupt
this ungodly jerk-off session?

Meet Gregory Delory
also a member of LCROSS

“One way of saying it is this,
he said, and this is how he said it,
“this is not your father’s moon.”

Delory is an asshole.
And he is right.

This is not
my father’s moon.

Let me tell you
about my father
and his moon.

My father is a confident man,
He enjoys “Walden Two” and the hilarious vibratory unity of existence.

He has no pity,
only endless compassion,
and a respect for relativity.
He was born in 1949.

He once painted
an American flag
onto his face and
dared a patriot redneck
to punch him.

Later, he was arrested
for walking
on the sidewalk
eating seeds.

My father recalls with pictorial clarity
the grief in his mother’s eyes
on the day of John F. Kennedy’s assassination.

He loved to take his
brothers fishing
where they would sit
and cast and wait
and gaze at the moon, the untouchable circle of light
its ghastly yellow
a soothing reminder of nothing, of mystery.

My father’s moon
had no fucking bull-shit flag
rammed into its surface.
Star-spangled my ass.

A naked heavenly spectre
that shone down onto the cone-shaped face of his first child,
my dear older brother.

Some of the earliest words he ever worded: “I want to see moon”
and mirrored the pale grimace in the black sky.

Now is the time for planetary isolationism,
and molecular detachment.

Slogans for a new era.

Signs held by robots
who are programmed to control
their own programming.

Stay out of the galaxy’s hair.

We have not earned the right to fly through space
and twist the elegant design of nature
like the end of a straw
through which we sip, selfishly, for our survival,
drops of our own blood.

Human, horrific, absurd and awful beast
stalking the planet
destroying the blues and greens of common sense.

There are no answers to be found
by the intrusion of our bestial presence
into the unspeakable perfection of the stars


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: