Gravitational forces
towards something better
as if it exists
buried beneath
some distant desert

what is it
that strains to convey
itself
in this broken poetry
as if truth were at
the tip of its tongue

perhaps it's to feel real
for only a moment
to escape the routine
of making a living
which only yields
a skeleton
compacted in dirt

Take my writing
let it fly upon the wind
let it touch the four corners
of Earth's spiritless surface
Take it farther!
upon the wings of doves
and sound waves of conversation
to red and gaseous planets
let even the martian men
attempt to
translate