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.