Murder on the Moon (a poem)

There are no rules on the moon –

at least there weren’t until the murder.

A scientist’s blood drains down a shower sink;

let the detectives sort this out.

Spirits drove him to the brink.

Is that why he killed her?

The earth looks so beautiful from here:

a globe of green, white, and blue.

I want to leave the cold, lifeless moon,

and go back to the world of fools:

the doomed planet where there are rules.

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