spacing.

[Split Eight]

If the Earth were to ask its barren moon
for a serenade, I think I could compare it to you.
A pefect marriage in its distance. perfect, a vacuum.
I wish I could work out five stanzas. unheard, in that vacuum.
like burnt out. abandoned by words now. unnerved, and past due.

it feels like some company you only ever keep.

porch rockers, storm watchers, I'm refilling the flask.
we'll watch tail-ends of tempests keep tilling the grass-
lightning kissing Marblehead turning silica glass.

Revisit how nature could relinquish what was in her clutch
to what must be her most villanous sons. Kingdoms've come
until kingdoms undone by the cycling dew.
Inevitablly, as entropy, your time is consumed,
the brilliant heavens are cauterized as hydrogens fused.
It'll still you, intact.
As if you could try for a noose. Or fill an ark, and fly-
self-inset in carbonite, forests silhouetted martensite-
Earth's will and testament, unlistened, she witnessed
as she was disembarked of men who left the stars the sky.
and as her atmosphere warms, she's a guardian scorned,
bon voyage, au revoir, they're departing divorced.
pause in sentences formed, growing old in instants
with the blowing of units' shimmering taps.
it could freeze you with a shivering gasp.
journey centuries forth on a boat into black.

the oceans beckon from a second new world.
opened when the destination's vestige unfurls.
Reveille. the enervate descension to familiar form.
Terra Firma. the coup de grace, your fuselage is beautiful torn,
but what use is that when no one human is warm