Write a poem, dreamer
make a rhyme, like in ancient time
they did, before investing in paper
or cutting quills, they rapped
quipped, cleverly
jumped, excitedly, sang
inspired others to wildness of excess
brought flames from mid-breast
poured ashes, beat chest
cried to see how others
would react
to me
Me is little
I am often found
floating free, irresponsibly
in the lowest sectors of society
I am where I want to be
My friends tried
to give me pride
pushed aside
they glide
through time
until I find
the solar system
where I was meant to be
but the sun keeps coming with
as if I am, already, where
I was meant to be
Floating free
Little me
We spin and fly
Ball of Earth, no sky
That sky is such a thin shell
A membrane we know only too well
from the inside, from beneath
We cut our teeth on it
Ceramic tiles help
We whelp
Advancing, pain
Squirming, prancing
Babies rain from hospitals
We make more, teach them to fly
Encourage them to break
the sky with rockets
Why not
It’s there, isn’t it?
Look at that shit, all blue
Sometimes black, how dare
those stars exist so far from where
we are, from where we die
from where we cry, just
how are we going
to impress them
own them
I
know
not what effect
our transmissions
are having on extra-
terrestrial observers, what
impression would you get, only
watching our films and internets?
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