When you can't go to Mars.... you die a little.
At least that's what my September mind has conjured.
And I have every right to believe it. I am Earthbound, after all -
And anything further from the Truth -
Has been deported from my Hemisphere, so only Life's little secrets
Remain... And clouds are made of glass.
But Love is a snail on a heap of burning orchids.
And I rarely sleep without my pills.

Knowing you're still alive is like knowing you're dead.
Summer is a beach where whales rest and the night sky feeds
on their souls. But nothing kills gently. Just habitually.
And the rivers run beside you, because underneath you -
are too many bones.  And Winter is the flame you left unattended.
Like Mars.