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the moon in the morning

I saw the moon in the morning. Faint white in cooked blue sky. I wrapped another layer of duct tape around my rifle and walked into the desert. Under the moon. Under the cooked blue sky. There was a hole in the fence at the abandoned airbase. I walked from hangar to empty hangar, searching for rockets. Searching for fuel. Something to get me up into the sky. High above the world of clouds and loneliness. Beyond memory and onto the moon. But all I found were a few oily flight suits and some spiders allergic to the sun. I went outside and sat on the cracked tarmac. The moon faded into the afternoon.

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