Don’t fail me now not before the bombs fall
words spoken then laughter in the restaurant
over Chablis and oysters, nerves of wool

Worry lines as a way of life across grimacing faces
pilot training as a suppressed experience, deep life,
steak for main maybe choux hearts for dessert

Destruction on the launch pad, the routine has been
impressed on the grid, the matrix of consciousness,
natural selection in the space of jostled neurons wondering

Whether there is any relief once in space, away
away, from this grid of streets, is it solid enough
to hold up our spirits high, untouched,

Blemish free draped in the flag, retro jet joy
and star drives invisible from the dark side of the moon,
food gulped down drink taken to salve the tongue

Burnt out hearts and molten faces set out on the grid,
falling from the skies like punctured Chinese lanterns.