outer Space

we left Our earth
Our silver garden and graves
nobly rotting the human imagination
i dont want you to feel bad about yourself
but i do think you should.
foreheads of light-
they need you out there.
globes covered in molasses
bounce by Us as
white suits salute them

let Us dream
let Us die
let Us dream of dying
city lights of a cosmic blackness cater to
a pretentious worm in a soft apple
the smiling eyes of the motel Moon
blink and wink in morse code
they whisper:

“space available. pun intended.”


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