THE GOLDEN MOON
Ah, no, not one of Henry Hudson's ships, no,
nor Christopher Columbus either. It's the celestial
mind-navigation of a very mistaken tribe. Only here
and now do they look up and proclaim strange things,
their precious blood-moons, their sudden urges towards
living as one - after, of course, having destroyed the very
destiny of the Nature they now, of a sudden, revere. Forty
different brands of toilet paper, anyone? Fifty different
brands of toothpaste? What is it you really like?
Tell me.
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