The Moon Has No Ears

No one says,
"Hello,"
anymore,
on the
quietest
of
streets
nor on
the stores'
dead
days,
as stiff
sour
souls
walk
streets
like
ghosts,
wrapped
tight like
firecrackers,
not seeming
to know
that
they're
rude,
makes
me
feel
like
Medusa,
oh how
Piggish,
oh how
sad,
being
a prick
is
the
latest
fad,
but deeds
are
like
boomerangs,
maybe I'll
just laugh,
when you're
crying
for
help,
keep in
mind,
that the
dark night
and the
moon
do not have
ears.