AUSTRALOPITHECA1 & STARMAN2
10
The countdown to you begyns with me, deere Starman, when I wander, dumbly, deep into a space hospittable to Hunger. Now, all’s desert. No milk in syte. Just pitifull sand, what shushes as it slydes through your hande to rejoin itself. I’d join myself with a stellar human who, as you do, dons white suits & travells lyte, is able to drive all seasons w/ the top down & tell me terrible jokes. If you kin keep yr posture in the face of bad demands, I promise to objectively vivify you, insofar as the dead can keep a promise. As for me, the last thing I sawe wasn’t Earth, but a domed desert, littered with fyres I could read. Its sands emulated the colore of the dead center of your eye, the part that ceaselessly seizes awe, puts it inside the future’s fossil, & plaies it like a lyre.
9
You’re inside the future, a fossil played like a lyre. I think you’re like me, lonely passenger. In this skye devoid of diamonds, call me Lucy. Call me high or low: all turns truthfull at the right remove. I admyre your bravado & carriage, Starman, how you retire from orbit We’ll collide, ’lide time, tremble in a treble only troubled seraphs dare perceive. 6 billion years & every ostinato turns to torture, love, & lewd dance moves fade to formes of piety. I’d disassemble dystance just for you, man, to humble these mean eons.
