without the moon we are alone; the man on the moon is as lonely as lonely gets. he watches us all from a distance uncrossable, when astronauts get close they can't see him anymore. he is tired of hiding in the distance, but he can't shrink to be seen up close. Up close he is nothing but ugly impotent craters, his sterility is without motion, without gravity, without excitement, warmth, or depth, he is monotonous. he is expressionless, and will not change without destruction, some day an asteroid will scar him, or possibly embed itself within him, and the tides will stop. he carries the footprints of lightwalkers and loneliness, the flags of "conquering" and the cheese of dreams