me, too
I, too, would like to be asked to write a poem
to be placed inside a rocket rocketing into space.
a space poem, a rocket poem. a poem written from far, far away.
a poem for the Seven Sisters. a poem for little green men to read
on cold, lonely nights; little green men with big fat heads
and antennae sticking out, same as the old earthbound television sets,
save they would see us before we'd see them.
a poem for deepest space, a poem better suited for the blindness
of an endless dark, matter-less, senseless, a poem panting for the desire
of emptiness to find fulfillment; a poem of ever seeming but never being.
my poem will be a slow moving poem taking its time hitching a ride
in a fast machine, a poem of wanting and forever longing. that’ll be my poem.
it'll be a love poem.