Moonship Satellites

The smell of homemade Marinara sauce fills my apartment. The ingredients were purchased from the Farmer’s Market on Fairfax. I’m drinking a glass of Primitivo while listening to Apples In Stereo streaming on Pitchfork. My love is in the kitchen humming along too. The stars above spool out endlessly like diamonds on a mauve rug.  

Satellites drift in and out of contact, casting digital shadows like shifty street corner characters. My orbit falls short of extra-terrestrial. I move through the canopy like an inebriated lemur. This world of ours is barely a blemish on the universe’s back.

My words are razor-sharp, I aim them with deadly accuracy at your heart.
For every fucked-up thing I wrote I whispered in your ear a lovely antidote.

The chicken is in the oven and water for the pasta is heating up on the stove. Time is measured by the amount of blood draining out of meat and bubbles rising in the pot. I flip through channels on the television to find out how the Lakers are doing. They’re losing. Badly. I turn it off.

Grapes on the vine in Italy wait to be picked and crushed and my heart greedily sips the product in California, years later. I daydream about my coming vacation to Argentina. I picture myself moving in and out of small cobblestone streets listening to the lilting Argentine accent waft all around me.

The world is a small jawbreaker that I want to place in my mouth and suck on, but never crack. When I was young I used to chase bees around the backyard but now I’m older and those bees don’t remember me.

I’m on a wilderness sojourn — my blood burns.
I’m on a heart-attack highway — my head sways.

Around town, all the empty lots are overgrown with vegetation. Wildflowers bloom right and left. All the rain has made life rampant and green and at night I hear cats scream in heat. Can you close your eyes and picture the color of Spring? Do you know what pigeons are good for?

The crepuscular moon shows its silvery side to the city. We watch through telescopes alien men lighting cigars and spitting green phlegm thirty feet forward. The moon moves tides and inside of us our tidal emotions crush tiny cities. Do you know the astronomy of your inner cosmology? Do you now where the planets disappear to when your Gods go to sleep?

A glass of beer rests half-drunk on top of the pinball machine.  She’s wearing a short yellow dress and her lips are painted bright red. Her shirt is loose and her breasts peek out but not in a glaring way, discretely. Men are cheering for a sporting event in the other room. He’s wearing a white tee-shirt with the sleeves rolled-up and bangs his hips against the machine and slaps the buttons violently as the ball bounces around underneath the glass. She watches him in awe, his urgent thrusts pushing her mind places she doesn’t know how to control or move back away from. She licks her lips, watching him play. The little steel ball sneaks past the paddles and falls down the hole. Game over. “Fuck,” he shouts barbarously. He looks at her dejectedly. “That was my last quarter,” he announces. “Next time, babe, ” she tells him.

I’m planting a garden of words in the middle of outer space. I’m sitting on a crater waiting for a moonship to land with my love behind the controls. I’m watering the lunar soil waiting for tomato poems to grow. I’m eyeing distant stars for the glimmer of an engine to appear. You arrive and crawl into the crater with me. Smiling your perfect smile.

What empyrean bed did I fall asleep in to be able to dream this dream? My head full of light, I go to sleep and my pillow glows like a jellyfish. I do what I want, not what I should have done. Life is too short to be caught up in what you could have done. Lets let our worries run away, like wild horses on the plain, today is such a beautiful day, lets not fret yet about tomorrow.

I wake with golden light blessing each speck of dust in my room, everything radiant and divine, the fern bestowed with an illuminated crown, clothes gilded with the sun’s caress. There isn’t a day as special as today. T’ain’t no other place I want to be.

Hello, world, where have you been?


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