I scrolled right past those pictures of space today.
I don’t give a shit about astronomy.
I don’t give a shit about the deep ocean.
Both are vast, scary, unexplored voids…like death.
When the clocks are cut,
and the phones are stopped.
Do me a favor and don’t scatter my ashes at the beach.
I am a land man.
Small, unlike even the littlest condor,
And I don’t care for the sky either,
Too many shapes in the clouds.
I like sky water,
And petrichor prior.
I like concrete on my feet
And food stuck in my teeth.
The Yankees on in the background,
Music to digest,
Poets to ponder their earthly purpose.
My brain wants insignificance,
But my heart wants a hearth
To burn bright into the night,
One that you can see from any galaxy.
Under it all.
The invisible comets, the clouds, the condors.
The bridge, the skull, the skill to somehow live.
Eyes relative to anything,
Will shut one day—one moment, one tick of the clipped clock—
to everything, But the whole time
I have had the universe along with me.