Astronaut

The kid with the addiction

fails to articulate her loss

of the world around her,

the sea spray calling from the

shoreline rocks. She stays

at home and smokes til she

can’t see straight. “Fuck it,”

from the under the covers,

“it’s too cold.”

She makes an exchange.

The world passes by without

her knowing it, she passes by

without them knowing her, her 

timely escape from Planet Earth impeccable,

but oddly not timely enough.

That’s really what all of

this is, isn’t it? A thunderstorm
makes its way along the coast, a burly

shoreline mainland suburb, with

its pines and birchwood and oaks,

the lighthouse on the harbor break,

a break beyond it, waves minute, seagulls

galling and everyone’s in

big coats.

If only fantasies were reality,

If only she could escape, become,

for all intensive purposes, a

Mothertrucking astronaut,

then maybe there would be no need

for substance abuse, religion, greed,

and envy. But hey, sin is earth and

we are of it. The kid with the addiction

knows this. She accepts.

Eventually she'll wonder what it would

be like to be fire instead, above earth 

and everywhere.