I prefer stars to the moon.

The man on the moon is a liar. We look to his silent face for guidance, in hopes of a flicker of shadow or some cosmic shooting star to signify an answer. Guised in the leftover light of the sun, He is just a reflection, Daylight’s remnants tossed onto dirt and gravel No different from that in a driveway. He is a comic, allowing us to throw fate around like Dice in his name, sending comets to touch stars Queuing them for their moment of glitter knowing that We will fall for it. We are all children when it comes to The moon, fairy tales and princesses, white stallions and A wink from the heavens.