You with that extra light sketched
Out over your local glare,
You ignorant, owlish town,
You streetlamp, neon, arc light
Conglomeration of shines
Made graceful by this moonlight
That only reflects what's left
Once its dust has collected
Whatever light it can keep,
Returning, humbly, the rest,
Can you see your invention
Of day under domes of night
Dooms you to a kind of lie
About your look that only
Overlaid moonlight forgives?
Ignoble, subtle rebel
Who hasn't the wherewithal
To challenge your own deceits,
What will you do when your moon
Decides it's had enough sun
And spins out into the dark?
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