until all clock turnin hands tick still, time
will tell one thing or another. now
the news is a friction
of flyinspark opinions.
we clap or cringe
awestruck or incredulous:
a further giant leap;
or million $ fuelled, tourist trip;
or colonisin expedition crossin the line
again, for a potential, brand shiny new, uninhabited?
kingdom. we winkwink at richard, the english call him dick for short,
and the other two white knights. their phallic rocket ships longin to penetrate this
dark virgin space; men breakin
more barriers; comin
back our heroes, havin
sown essential seeds
for our future—
they say.
another trinity
of untethered
wizened men
tickin the bucket
list; followin a fast fleetin
childhood dream, deemed
to be beamin in outer space.
our focus is on these
three rub-a-dub-dub men.
now, and then
a few track the invisible,
original blueprint inspiration;
the incubatin and involved,
anima-tin, archetypal eves.
i wonder—who is not lookin
out—cravin some piece
of pie-in-the-sky;
searchin.
devinin
a twinklin
blinkin true-
eyed way
to follow?
⁂
tonight, outside,
three contrary amazonian sistas look
up into the clear bright dark; join
stardots, with fingers
crossed for the future
they imagine and blissfully
intone for themselves
and others. they laugh, debatin
the bright spark above: venus;
wakandan or alien ship, golden
doge grails; sirius or satellite. good
glowin god. it rains. heads down and
focused, they go inside.
our precious currency:
priceless familial
fuel—our humblin hotblooded kin-
ships survivin here on earth—is all
these three can shoot and root for—right now...xox...