A cannonball nudged the moon
Powdered silver rust floats orphaned, astray
And it does not rain
They talk about it in hushed tones
Waiting for a turquoise night
But the dust envelops
Only a robot survives
Perhaps also a rocket launcher
Feeding on bread crumbs
Its greasy limbs, restless
Serenaded by a lost somebody
Anticipating a thunder storm
Then, drum rolls
Dust soar, evaporates
A faint melancholy
A colourless rain
A crimson sky
Period
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