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Astronauts

I am wordless bound. 

What is a poem,

but something

 

floating through space?

I’ve begun thinking

maybe consciousness

 

is not a fluke –

through evolution

the body figured out

 

how to think about itself. 

We really do have the power

to evaluate

 

what’s right in front of us.  The mind

is real.

Truth be told, we wanted a girl. 

 

I thought I could curtail the space

for that, grab hold of the furniture, society.  You’ve

set it loose.  I’m so self-aware

 

I can’t hear a thing;

just the grass

my own mortality.  The arm’s length


of time, in each banal task, speaking stars, on this mote

suspended in a sunbeam. 

My son, since

 

you’re here,

we are astronauts.   

 

 

 

 

 

Posted 09/21/18
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