I'm homesick for my own world,
spinning through these rings.
I'm just tired of being whirled,
and I long for gravity.

It's funny how these stars
are so ugly up close,
when viewed from afar
they looked so beautiful.

Just like a lot of things.

Like Saturn's rings.
Like my neighbor's lawn.
Like my neighbor's wife.
Like memories.
Like faded love.
Like idealism.
Like my father.
Like family in general.
Like myself in the mirror on your bedroom ceiling.
Like you.
Like critters and guitars.
Like interstellar coffee.
Like sad little love poems.
Like hopeless romanticism.
Like me.