Born under a cluttered moon
Craters everywhere
No organization as to size or shape
A small young one haphazardly
Splats across a sedate well-established crater
Willy-nilly and never the same way twice
They are piled atop one another
Like nobody's business, as Gran used to say
So it's not my fault you can't see the surface of my desk
Nor mine that I can't lay hands
On your most important key
Moonstruck, that's me
I wasn't born under one of the tidy moons
And there's nothing I can do about it
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