sun screened snake poo.

tired eyes meet tired skies
there is no moon or stars tonight
just man made lights, flaming bright.

this time of month, our moon is at rest while the sun ventures west
its a much needed vacation for a mirror in the shadows.
being tucked in a void of a closet
means less time as an amateur prophet.

while a witness to an orgy of famine and fashion
our wayward friend must cling to one last bastion
of hope-of irony-for a winter solstice greeted by frozen corpses.
no life, light, walls, or time
a world where she'll be fine
never again spectating a show of pain and woe.
who knows-maybe when the sun explodes?

but until that day, or night
she dreads the shame shed from every blistering ray.

though I must say, the stresses and struggles of everyday life
wouldn't be if blue footed boobies ended up eating your wife.
is that ever gonna happen?
meh.
probably not.
I guess you could give it a shot...
maybe...toss her in a zoo exhibit...to test?
but I think it'd be best to place bets with the moon
since I'm sure we're blowing up the sun real soon.
in the name of skin cancer, no less.