Monju in a space suit can't get the mojo working.
The live action in the leaky nuclear facility greying out the facts that were taken for granted---
those blue skies for the eyes to look up to,
and an earth as seen from a satellite with the color green percolating;
since before the time the Earthlings landed.
The imagination choking on the terror of a what-if.
Specifically what if outside those suits the astronauts use in space
the blue and green take the Thelma and Louise route off a cliff.
And what if wisdom has become a process that has devolved into what can be extracted from a Microsoft data base.
As minds grow soft it's easy to flip-flop into the hidden hate traps
randomized according to the instructions
of markets determined by shooting craps.
Here and there and you can find people praying for alien abductions.
The ink in the brain is fading fast
Monju's out in the moonlight digging through the trash.
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