53.2



Why would I lie when I can just be wrong?

I've fallen off course, drifted from orbit.

I'm here, paddling, pushing off the stray neutrinos,

casting excess weight out of the airlock,

asphyxiating and decompressing,

but more afraid of the nearing planet,

Earth, mundane, mud dispelled from Saturn's rings,

to the sun, as soulless as a magnet,

cracked, tossed in dust, in sorrow's second look,

made know noledgeable of the know nown.

as bereft of birth's promise as spit.


The stars, stars, while we find the long way down.

What better invitation to the ice?

This way madness lies.  This way madness lies.



originally published in Pen Poetry Series