Tag Archives: space


The waves stopped crashing, or at least the sound
didn’t make it all the way to the screen
door anymore, and the silence was a
deep layer of black at the bottom of
the Pacific, the most absolute form
of fog, and the beach was drowned, and the bluffs
crumbled and were never seen again, and
the surface and the sky and all manner
of moisture coalesced into one long
humid moment, bereft of focal points
beyond itself, outside of time, the stars
casting amateur reflections on the
plastic telescope we’d used to capture
Venus earlier after the sun died.

Space Mountain

What a beautiful place, space. Infinite
possibilities for so many good memories,
and to plunge at rocket speed
through the Vincent van Gogh night on a ride
made by a cartoon mouse creator is
as insane as it sounds. So I guess this
is the alternate universe where a
man and his drawing hand can rule the world
even after death, but speeding through this
fabricated eternity chamber
is the greatest inspiration, and not
to write, or to Live Life, but to be fine
with whatever comes later: Paradise,
darkness, full color reincarnation…

Smoke Detector Spaceport

It hangs down, suspended into the air. Circles upon circles, the top (technically bottom) has two rectangular holes that look like windows. You lie back on the ground and spend time thinking about what conversations could be happening in a hub like that, attached to a larger ship or space station, isolated, hanging out, vulnerable to the vacuum. The vistas. The puffy jumpsuits. The cool, detached computer voice giving updates and alerts. The mundane commute from the rest of the complex. Wonder eventually replaced with banality.

You picture this, staring up at the ceiling, action figures of your mind acting out tiny scenarios. You do not think about it, but it feels like a better way to spend your afternoon than merely changing the batteries.

Shrödinger’s Cat Call

Her room is a box, obscured from view,
and the fallout from emotive radiation

dies in half life. Sexual reality is non-local
unless you open up your eyes, so you sit

there in the black, cloaked in macroscopic
indeterminacy and sense the superposition

of her body curled away beneath the sheets.
Both of you exist on infinite worlds, just as long

as you remain that way —you both never see
her again as well as stay with her forever while

simultaneously continuing to rendezvous like
this for several months of vague, non-committal

emotional confusion, misconstrued between
your friends. Perhaps you’ve gone home with

another girl than the one who left the party —
hell, perhaps another guy — while at once

you went home alone, and never left the house
at all. Or maybe she’s The One (although

as long as we’re discussing physical science
and probability, that one seems particularly

unlikely however still completely possibly). But
the witness draws an outcome, and as soon

as one observes this quantum entanglement
of two distinct bodies on wavering strings,

the action exerts a force between them, a force
so powerful it destroys every world but One.

Because sometimes, when you’re trapped in the
vastness of space, it’s better to stay in the dark.

Their Eyes In

He and She are two lines, converging
to a point like sharks in steady motion:
always moving forward, never going back,
and never standing still until its end.

He and She are straight lines with nothing
but a steamy ninety-eight-point-six degrees
between them, keeping them apart,
separated by an ark until they reach the Point.

She is a solid line, at least 5B lead,
running parallel along the grid
without wavering, without a bend,
and inked to give her shadows,
character, emphasis and depth, while
the other lines perpendicule around her.

He is a dotted line, bisectual,
cutting squares in half, pointing straight
a-head like an arrow, dangerous and
pea-cocked by its fletchings.
A compound beau with pulleys
and gears that often miss the mark.

He and She are headed for a Vanishing Point,
To a collision, or towards a horizon line
where every building skews in a new direction
down slanted streets, slouching towards,
To end, or to continue on and on, anon.

He and She are headed towards a head,
forged by perspective. A trick of the eyes
and the I’s and lines, the lives and the lies,
manipulating space- and wasting -time
creating new dimensions to live in-
side by side, not content with length-by-height.

He and She are two lines, converging to a Point:
An ending, a forever, or flip-sides of a coin?