Based on "The Moon Doesn't Care", a poem by Avi Neta:

The moon doesn’t care that the stars aren’t there. 
It’s smiling at me like a fish in the sea 
and laughing with glee behind leaves of a tree.

Under rugs and in cupboards, 
inside pots and pans, 
beautiful maggots happily hand 
around bottles of water 
and drink, and sip, 
and they laugh 
and they dance  
and often they skip.
Birds of a feather 
fly out on the wing
I’m going up high 
in this park 
on this swing

There’s a hole in my foot 
and holes in my head
I’m breathing out carbon 
and breathing in lead
I’m half made of metal, 
half plastic and stone
My eyes are two jellies
My skin’s made of bone
Silvery stuff appears out my nose 
and eventually all I can do is simply just roll

Along with the houses, 
the hills, 
and the parks, 
the vomit, 
the mildew, 
the birds in the dark.
Looking forward and backward 
and onwards and under, 
and higher and lower 
till comes time for supper
I’ll come back around
Back to old China town, 
sorry and sleepy and wearing a frown, 
I’ll say
“Hey Mister please! I can’t find my knees!”
And he tells me to pray 
and I fall to my knees once again.

Now seeing nothing 
my head watching the sky, 
rain drops come down 
pouring out of my eyes, 
my hands clasped together 
are slipping apart, 
my knees beneath me 
are starting to smart. 
The flood’s coming now 
and Noah’s left with the ark, 
forsaken us all to a walk in the park, 
where I go and I look and see all kinds of living, 
of laughter and love and kindness and giving, 

And it makes my tears start to cry.
And water swiftly pours out the sides of my eyes.

The moon doesn't mind that the sun never shines.
She's so far away and she never replies.
It's late at night but it's bright and I know:
That I won't be sleeping underneath her white glow.

Avi Neta

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