Carl Sagan said

we are stardust

we are the elements rocketed

in to outer space

after supernova

we are all of those

different atoms

carbon and hydrogen

we are specs of the universe

made whole

and we are small

but even the tiniest organisms

can be fascinating

because they are stardust

and I take comfort in that

because stars never die

they just become something else

Coming Up

I never chased this moment
it just caught up with me
it must've been stuck to my cuff
it must've been stuck to you
I got a box in my desk
full of sewing needles
I got four cigarettes in there
with no filters
and a small but precious pistol
I touch it each time I sit there
I found a picture of your father
beneath my check drawer
in that drawer I never open
The one I know I NEVER should
I find ol' buttons and whiskey caps
from bottles they don't make now
I find love letters
to whom; I don't know
but she sounds classic
fragile and magestic
like a movie star
during the depression
I found a blood-ridden pen
in a private cabinet
I found a certificate that bore my name
I found a train ticket
dated the same day

Indiana

How many times can I hit
before I finally bust
Where's the signal out here
Where's the lesson
I smell piss on the bus
I taste the mix on the street
I feel the warm soft welcome
of Indiana in the snow
as I rattle by
on the train
I crush myself into a notebook
I smear my worst on a page
I got a small flask of bourbon
and I glued a stitch-worthy cut closed
I saw collapsing factories
I felt the sickening bounce and shuffle
I take a hot hard swig
from so much more than that flask
the lady in the sleeper car next door
is on a rosary tangent
my friend's asleep and shaking
but Indiana stayed up with me
Indiana's letting me in

Edison had his light bulb
Newton had his fruit
Carver had his peanut butter
Wild Bill could shoot
Jackson had his trail of tears
Watt had his steam
Kennedy had his 'Bay of Pigs'
Dr. King had his dream
Franklin had his kite
Galileo had his sun
Whitney had his printing press
Richards had his fun
Gaye had his soul
Don Juan had his kiss
Twain had his witty words
all I have is this

Janey Beneath

Janey fell in with the bad crowd
did her own first tattoo
cut off her pigtails with a box knife
dyed the remains blue

Janey fell in love with a street boy
with baggies and vials for purchase
he taught her about the world she sleeps through
and brought her evil to the surface

She didn't go to school much now
she put poison pills in her nose
and the street boy whistled 'neath the train bridge
when he pinned her and cut off her clothes

I saw Janey's bruises and shattered spirit
I poured a round and asked why
and who's this monster who wears her smile
she said, "he'll love me or he'll die."

Janey and the street boy were the perfect pair
in a stolen old Skylark cruising town
He brought her back beneath the bridge one night
to show her where he laid his enemies down

she squinted in the darkness at shallow graves
in his filthy littered bitter sanctuary
she rubbed the razor scar on her hip
from when she lost her rose in an unmarked cemetery

She keeps an army bag with her always
there's a pistol by her cigarette case
as she smiles and lifts it, the trigger gives
and she leaves him laying in his sacred place