Shuttle Debris

Such a beast as these jagged shards stacked amid flighty
Scientific questions, sponge bathed lifeless limbs, stretcher,
Armed military parade, wide load National Guard solemn
Caravan toward hanger of reassembly, gathered in mighty
Clipboard clutched white lab coat face-masked lecturer
Cantering the melancholy catalog into microphone column,
Filling our grid of numbers like garden rows in entropy,
A handsome multi-layer sieve tucked away in particles
And pieces, having gone the way of our dust, from cosmos
To cosmos, whatever that means, rearticulate model in 3-D
Except for all the bits hoarded away in newspaper articles,
Old ladies’ pastures and wooded acreage where we almost
Gave up looking for cow pie mushrooms of hallucinogenic
Quality just a little later in the year, oh, so long ago in VW
Bug, arm stretched out a mile or two (it didn’t matter after
The first mile, anyway) when the silly fungi halls of scenic
Destiny turned the telescope so I didn’t want to trouble you
With how far down was the floor, anyway, beam and rafter
Heights were my perceptions on the way to the pillow talk,
The talking pillow I had farted into earlier that day, to spite
And punish the fool who would later lay his head deeply
Into the shaped foam edge lined along the harvest’s stalk
Having yielded this baggage a place in the pages of night
Readings, not wondering about the toxic nature so steeply
Hung away, clarified and cautioned to all, the shredded bits
As well as parts and passions could well contain the cause
Behind the ripping apart of lives, poisons remaining intact
When as a sum flowed a thread which our belonging knits
A pattern unraveled, discernable as a lens through gauze,
We take our softly focused problems back to Ma and Pa as
If there was anything they wanted for us to do other than to
Grow up once and for all, to not be the children born
To them in the awkward times of least expecting, malaise
And joy, all circuits are busy, traffic jams while rendezvous
Are orders of the decade, as we carry toxic, shreds of torn
Feelings toward each other, scattered across fields for days

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Current world population (estimated): .

This free script provided by
JavaScript Kit