My Cosmonaut
Scouring the stars for me
His life is all night and glitter
As I watch from my little marble
He floats
He flies
My Cosmonaut will rise
To the challenge
And bring a little space back
For me

Jenny and Malcolm
lie in a field
on a hill
straddling the countryside
at midnight.
The grass tickles
their toes and noses
as it flows up
getting the stars.
Jenny passes the roach
and sings the blues.
Malcolm casts
a long line of smoke,
fishing for meteors.

"You think
there's anyone
out there?"
Jenny asks.

"I knew a kid,"
Malcolm says,
bobbing his head
to Hendrix,
"18, in Philly,
went to grab
a bag of dope,
but his buddy's brother,
he was nine at the time,
wouldn't go,
so he had to go,
thought it would be quick
so he brought him
but forgot the cash
and tried to dash,
but the kid wasn't so fast.
They caught him
and laid him to rest
with his head on the curb
and teeth in the gutter.
After that, he said
he couldn't be the same,
forever paranoid,
society pushing him
towards suicide
or addiction.
Desensitized
he decided
he wasn't made for this place
so he got high
and rode a cloud
out beyond
where we stare now."

All I hear are muffled sounds
as I walk slowly, closer toward the light.
Today is the final step in which I’m bound
by duty and history I’m about to write.
Everywhere I look are cheers
from people I do not know;
their spirits are high above the skies.
Beneath my mask is a certainty unclear
of the task I am about to undergo;
no time now to say proper goodbyes.
Up calmly, ascending the stairway to the unknown,
my heart pacing more rapidly than before.
Though safe in numbers I feel more alone,
all courage and might I now implore.

Radio sounds buzzed and fed through the lines;
the countdown now comes down to Five, four,
three, two, one—my ears ring from the sounds combined;
this is what it means, what it feels to be alive.
All signs seem well, so far so good;
though I feel as if my weight is pulled down.
Everything looks so small, so minute,
so close yet so far as it really is should;
it’s into unfamiliar ground we’re abound.
Left and struck with awe, I see no one up here;
dark matter clouds all thoughts of fear,
as the stars shimmer even closer in space.
This memory, this single moment will never disappear—
up and away into a sweet unfamiliar embrace.

There in the field she came to me,
The last of the silver honeybees.
I could see the years worn in her face,
Lost in the dark, one foot in the grave.

She held the ache behind her eyes,
So young to have her throat closed tight.
Poor girl, an orphan, with ribs of steel
Bone cage laced too tight to feel.

Then came the lonesome cosmonaut,
Betwixt the stars, those years he lost;
A nomad’s tale, nor here nor there
Too high up to come down for air.

Celestial darlings, they go round and round,
Dysphoric we hasten the final burnout:
From birth to evanesce, the hedons expire
Would love rot my teeth for afflictions less dire?

Last came the poet, out from the gloam
******* on pennies, and ink soaked through bones.
She gathered her strength and fell from the sky
While friends in high places twinkled goodbye.

He’s a chain smoker in his head
And a businessman with his hands
He was a cosmonaut at the bar
And a bear with the North Star

You're a solar system,
and I'm a rogue cosmonaut who
(having fallen in love with you  through a telescope)
has built a ship from the salvage
of lesser explorations;
now I spend my days
(or nights— hard to tell)
looking at you, chin in hand,
waiting for a place to land.

Her name,
passing over your lips
like the cosmonaut's smile
at first sight of the Earth.

Since birth, she has been
swimming the stars, but still
never goes beyond dipping her toes
when the shoreline hisses withdraw.

As her earth gives
my sea his home, I wonder-

Would she let me
take her hand, gently,
walk her out a bit deeper.

Would she hold me, fiercely,
lift up from the wet sand,
her bare feet, trust the sea, trusting me.

While earth, sea, and stars all hold each other dearly,
however distant they may be,
Her deepest fears all devoured
by a pack of wild ladybugs.

i'm ready to misspell your name
and ready to write a poem, and weep,
and drink: no sight of Saturn's meteor rings
to quench all lunar orbits could ever equal
you: whether in painting,
or in mirror, or in ghostly glass of an atlas....
god.... i'm abstracting you
by way of erasing memory!
in acronym s.t.a.y.
i'll give you my bog shelf of time,
the stinking pit of worthy portrait;
but then the canvas of constellations
is too unfathomable,
and even if i succeed at a body bound to
defeat, even if my thought rises
to a Martian soul of constant warring,
i am but
               death's defeat,
               on the consistency of repeated life;
for the Hindu credo speaks of the death
of death as the tongue lap dancing to the tune
of reincarnation, where nihilism is necessary,
to gather the self within the canvas of
knowing nothing, and yet painting something;
absolved on the banishment of signature with caricature.

I wish you could hear my heart thumping from the miles between us.

I wish that your finger tips could glide across every inch of my skin just as an ice skater skims the freshly smoothed canvas their feet call home.

You are my home.

I wish I was a snowflake in your hair, I would cling to each strand tightly and become one with every cell, creating a bond between us stronger than any atom.

Then maybe part of me would be stuck to you forever.

In the summer you’d have the memory of the sky I came from and the stars that created me.

The sky was clear the night I met you; each star twinkling with its own perception of fate.

I want to become cosmonaut, so I can visit each destiny. Maybe then, I could find the one that fits us best. The one that would have made you stay.

One night you told me how we should count them all. Tossing our thoughts in the sky recklessly, desperately trying to match the dim lights above in uncertainty.

The darkness consumed our thoughts, ******* them into a black hole that gave no promise for return. Those twinkling thoughts diminished, lost in the vastness of space, forgotten as they slipped away into the night.

The coldness of space is unforgiving and so is your love.

You branded your name on my heart, each letter making a permanent home in my flesh.

The scar of your love is something that my body will never part with, but I wasn’t good enough for you.

I could never take care of you the way I needed to.

The stakes were too high, the distance too vast. It was too good to be true, too bittersweet, and all the other sappy clichés in the book.

I trusted you, with my heart and though you broke it in two, I’d do it all again if I knew that you’d try.

If I knew that you believed that our love was stronger than the bigots around us, and that you believed that the love I gave was enough.

The thought of you resides in the back of my mind; occupying my subconscious like a living dream.

I can still hear your voice just as clear and crisp as it will ever be.

My body begs for you, but all I can feel is your ghost.

Your presence lingers in the air above my bed dancing about in the night masquerading as fireflies.

They used to be my nightlight. Now they fuel an insomnia that is colder than night itself.

Forgetting you is not just as simple as putting your picture away.

I might have to suffer from a concussion that will bless me with mind numbing amnesia just to forget the way you touched my soul.

Your love will forever be infused in my veins and whether or not it haunts me I’m sure it’s not something

I’d reluctantly get rid of, unless I had no other choice.

So I will continue to cherish those memories, no matter how painful. In hopes that someday you’ll come running back to me.

Your voice was soft and there was something about your disposition that could just lull me to sleep. It’s not because you were boring, hell I could listen to you for hours.

No, you were gentle with every word that you spoke almost as if you were tiptoeing around the harness in this world. You candy coated it for me, almost like you were protecting me from something.

I remember the night I met you, the second you gazed upon me with those pool-blue eyes, was the moment my heart started play a soft concerto of love.

It hasn’t stopped since. You were the muse to the melody of every step I took. And in the first month that

I knew you, I was born again.

I dragged my feet on the sidewalk every night I went to get a cup of coffee. Along the way I’d coach myself.

My insomniac ways needed to learn to take in the night air with each stride, allow my chest to beat with all that I feel.

Every day is a new day and so is the moon, and just maybe you could teach me how to fly because baby you make my heart sing.

For each night that dragged me out just so that my drooping eyes could find something sweeter to look at than the cold air above my bed.

Each and every night that I’d find you again in that that coffee shop window, my heart composed a new tune.

I swear by now, my body has created an infinite number of songs for you.

One night, I said that my love for you shined brighter than the solar system and spanned wider than the universe.

I guess my cliché cosmonaut tendencies rubbed off on you because you asked me if I ever wanted to travel to the moon. And I said that I’d only do it with you by my side.

That was the night that I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.

But bend and break comes hand in hand with eve and flow.

Bind my soul to everything I crave then toss me aside like I’m nothing.

There’s something about this silence. It sends chills through my entire body.

The fear of being alone strung through the back of my brain. Leaving my head caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, a warpath of emotions.

That’s what you did to me.

Leaving every fiber of my being screaming for help, red tunnel vision in sight. Screaming, but with no audible words.

You played with heartstrings, turning my vital organs in to sick love puppets.

The butterflies that rage in the pit of my stomach suffocating me as they crowd the back of my throat.

Our love was like a thunderstorm, two fronts clashing, composing a volatile connection that sent everyone running.

You knew the rain was coming and so did I. I was a fool to think that you would stay, but I was enchanted by your soul. Put under a spell by those swimming pool blue eyes.

I loved you, and in return you taught me the greatest lesson in life. Don’t love someone, it hurts too much.

i.
dear cosmonaut,
some days
i am in love with you.
some days
i am in love with you
and i ache in every language i know
and a thousand i don't;
your name spilling from
constellations like some
pure wor(l)d built
elysium.

ii.
there are days
i am ador(n)ed
by the skin of those
who matter
when kindness blisters
and it burns;
i am spitfire conflagrations
and no respite, no shelter
when comfort is the
flame
you fly from.

iii.
in the between
moments
i am paused
floating lonesome
interstellar satellites
in orbit;
these are days
that feel like all days
and none
and i cry out to believe
i am. not broken,
yet sacred and longing
sca(r)red, and
wanting.
you,
perhaps.

iv.
dear cosmonaut,
some days
you are everything;
but the sun
must always
set.

imagine retiring before you're 30,
with the great european disneyland
in switzerland waiting for your desires,
god... i stopped celebrating my birthdays
deliberately, so that each day is like
a birthday before the day i die:
motto: oh ****, here again, *******!

so i started brooding on the concept of
monism, dualism and trinity
in chemical terms eradicating theological
impetus to salvage from one (e.g. the buddha,
the christ, the moses without a surname like jesus)
the multitude: mostly fishermen and tax officers
and thieves... jesus... what a selective society you
knit and picked, huh?
i was thinking of carbon monoxide
(C≡O)... so when counter-structures on the
elemental level become coupled in a scenario
of being identical, bypassing non-super-imposable'ness
(disregarding chirality), they can spawn
exponential growth named cancerous economics!  
and methane (C and H x4)
ethene (H2C=CH2) and ethane (H3C-CH3)
trinity's degenerate nature... oh right, so you're playing
dumb but not farming, you're the required
audience in front of the digitalised combine of colours
in a shady room? plato would call that coloured shadows
where no messages are deciphered given the doubt
that they're even passed for the excommunication
of corrupt politicians and the clergy... you know:
french / russian revolution *******.
oh i want a thinking embryo not attached to my body,
i want it so bad that i can compare myself
to elijah's command: execute the priesthood of baal,
because they can't conjure anything,
just paedophilia and mumbles and sugar puffs at breakfast.
well there's all that, what was i talking about?
rambling on many cobwebbed talking matters later
it might appear like Alzheimer's... right the active
ingredient of cigarettes: carbon monoxide,
(C≡O), not like carbon diaoxide (O=C=O),
a trinity in one person creates a fourth dimension,
imagine the interstellar (movie) capsule of quantum-space
of humanism interpreting the crucifix wearing
a cosmonaut suit rather than adam's fur...
it's like that... so apart from carbon monoxide providing
the suffocating dizzy carousel of the cigarette dragged
quickie high, you get the nicotine i thought was
actually a placebo substance, a palette of tobacco akin...
still alice* was a bit **** to be honest,
she was trying to salvage her strongest areas of
personality, she specialised in linguistics,
in phonetics and what not (etc.),
if she suddenly changed course with her interests,
rather than retreated into the laziness of:
all consciousness and thinking is about memory and
memorisation, she was challenged by schooling's
expression of memory: the times table: 2 x 2 = 4, 2 x 3 = 6,
and personal memory, the imprints on other
people, rather than civilisation's imprint on
the person in question: civilisation = the existence of money,
tribalism = you scratch my back, i scratch yours.

After seeing her stars and collection of astronomy posters, Ellis once asked if she wanted to be an astronaut.
She simply replied, “What would be the point? It wouldn’t be any different than watching it on television.”  
Ellis found this to be a pretty daft assumption but couldn’t find any real reasoning to contest it.
This memory came back to him.
He attempted to empathize a second time as he stared at the ceiling stars when the idea of the glass of an old television mimicking the glass of a cosmonaut’s helmet came to him.
As he peered through the glass, it became apparent it wasn’t that being in space didn’t feel real, but that the television was more real than people gave it credit.
Even other screens, which rarely projected the experience of walking around living, felt more real than reality.
One doesn’t need to travel to see the world, and one doesn’t need to be near someone to feel close to them.
A line that has always be present, that very glass pane, began to weaken.
Ellis began to notice a headache as he traveled down the cavernous hole of existential metaphysics.
He looked down at Ada.
This vision had blurred unknowingly while lost in thought, and he frantically attempted to re-establish himself as a being existing in this plane of reality.

My insomniac ways beg me not to wake this early in the day, but the smell of coffee beans awaken my soul.

It’s been 5 days since I’ve seen the light and my cosmonaut tendencies have gotten the best of me.

Each night I take a trip to the moon and back, collecting some stars along the way.

My soul thrives on stardust and my heart pulses with the moon.

My spirit, a wolf in the dead of the night, lurks in the shadows; Reaching out to every inch of the universe.

Just searching for the peace and serenity that comes with being one with the universe.

My soul may be a thousand years old, but with each new day I am born again.

Maybe that’s why I am afraid of the light.

You left a coffee stain on my heart and though the strings couldn’t bare to part with any fiber of your love, my body resents you.

I broke. She broke me. I’m broken. Can’t you see that I’m broken?

She has hurt me in ways that you could never imagine, bound my heart to her soul in more ways than any one person could think possible.

She twisted my veins, intertwining them with her heart.

I wish she could see the way that I could.

Love is such a fragile thing, but when you use it and abuse it you learn more things than you would ever find in a text book.

Love, you tug at my heart strings. Took everything that I am and tossed it aside like one of your ****** up love poems.

Crumpled me up in the night then threw me away in that soiled trashcan in the corner of your room.

Let the lyrics of my love for you slip away in the night.

I hope every syllable leaves a shadow of my kiss on your lips, turning the sweet nectar of your raspberry lemonade chap stick to chilling memories of the ice in your soul.

My bones ache from your frigid love. Our partnership was always more than bad news.

Before you ripped my heart in two, you turned it into tissue paper.

It got thinner and thinner each time it broke, turning something so strong into something now so weak.

The storm of our love created a river that may not have ran smooth, but I loved her anyway.

You taught me to love each fragment of danger along the way; taught me to use each crack of thunder and each flash of light, to my advantage.

My love for her grew as deep of the depths of her heart until the day she set me free.

That must have been the night it flooded, wasn’t it?

Our love was like a reckless storm. Two fronts clashing, composing a volatile connection that sent everyone running, but you thrived in the chaos didn’t you sweet pea?

You always used to tell me that I was the lightning to your thunder, but every time I struck, I could feel you slipping away from me.

No amount of sorrow will ever erase the image of her from my mind, the taste of her in my mouth.

She was my favourite cup of coffee and my only sweet dreams.

Her shadow haunts me like a silent plague, keeping me awake in wee hours of the night.

Maybe I just need some tea to replace the bitter taste in my mouth, but until that day she will forever be the reason for my insomniac ways.

LONG AGO,
            I     S P R A W L E D.
I WAS THE OCEAN FLOOR
            I WAS AN ASTRONAUT, A COSMONAUT
            Still impressive,
                               I am now
                               Harry Houdini
                               in the worlds'
                               smallest box

Less impressive,
I am covered in my own ****
which is soaking into the cracks between the linoleum tiles
in the ****** kitchen
of the ****** apartment
i live in
with my ****** ex boyfriend
(But he is not home)
  
Serenity, alone
It's rare
To feel love
From inside

Serenity, together
It's hard
To have help
from outside

An hour and a phone call later

A friend hoists you up and carries you
Mopping your floor
wiping your genitals
Tenderly, platonically
The way we hoped had already happened for the last time
A moment between you as a baby and you as a parent
Before you gained a real memory
But that moment is happening right now
But, somehow, your whole childhood is ahead of you still

One small step for literally ******* anyone else
One large step for you
The depressed
The first real trip you’ve made outside your room in six days
Not really used to how the gravity feels when you’re standing on two feet
The terrain foreign
Things change when you aren’t aware
Surrounded by those spots you see when you go out in the sunshine for the first time in a long time
You can almost pretend they’re stars

It is like silence
collapsing on you with the force of a black hole.
And it is very dark
and you feel so completely, utterly alone.

And far away, you can see the light of the stars.
You’d never doubt that they’re there, of course
you can even see them, just out of arms reach.
But for the life of you,
you don’t know how to get to them.

So you wait
and you bide your time
until you find a ship to sail you to the stars.
But until then,
you spend your time convincing yourself
that you don’t mind the dark.
You watch other people sailing over to the stars
on their own ships.
Maybe one day, one of them will stop for you.
But not yet.


And you just want to scream.
You want so badly to scream and cry and thrash about
within your little black hole
You want to grab the universe by it’s seams
and pull it apart and rip it to shreds and stomp on it
maybe if the anger’s enough, you’ll *** it up
and eat it
just because you can.

But your screams are lost to others.
In fact, they never even leave your little black hole.
They are simply crushed back into you
and they become dark and heavy
and begin to weigh on your heart.

So you watch,
with a growing blackness within you
at the others who reach the stars
and see the light, and feel the warmth.

But not you.
Maybe your ship will come someday
but not today.
So you sit in silence, and you wait.
A morose, forsaken cosmonaut
adrift, alone, in space.

Still I keep fading away
Is this what it's like to die?
If I end and nobody is around to care,
was I ever loved?

I can feel you secede when I talk of my worries
Perhaps I am not made to have problems.
Perhaps I'm better off being such a problem.
A problem better left silent.

I want nothing more than a cycle.
To come back to land that once grew fertile.
& begin to tend to it with the same care.
Lest I do not starve first.

I’m sitting in a corner,
She stares at me, and I should warn her.
But she doesn’t need the guidance,
It’s not history, this is science.
And her name carries some fame,
She’s not receptive to the game,
She wears her feelings on her sleeves,
Away from her heart she believes.
Cause her strength is in her mind
It’s where her planets are aligned
In this galaxy of truth,
She blinks and stars become the proof
That there is something more to see
And something more we all could be
If we just follow right beside her
A cosmic planetary collider

So I take paper and pen
And ask if not now then truly when?
Because I’m waiting for the sign
When both our planets will align
And if that star is in the distance
I’ll keep on flying with persistence
Because I know that if I’m stronger
It won’t take very much longer.

My life had become unhinged, bereft indeed.
You came into my heart and I believed.
Oh love. The great. The one.
Oh how you've stood by me.
A brain sick, cosmonaut.
My mind would lead.
I blushed when you came in.
The brush was crimson on my cheek.
My adoration for you leaked.
You are what with all my life I've longed to seek.

The astronaut and the cosmonaut
Met while in orbit
And danced the waltz
Beneath a ray of Moonlight-opaque.

*All hands and feet battle your space stations!

You don't need crutches when you have wings

I do believe people are always changing, for better or worse - ever fascinating.  I'm no saint, and I strive only to be, the me better than the individual I used to see.  Our fractals react to every train of thought on the track.  Once we live with intent our cells fully-optimized will reflect.  Beyond our body, we are being.  We are the space between our sub-atomic particles resonating. Now how do you want your vibe to sound?  We transcend to new peaks when we allow our feet to leave the ground.
Let's choose to grow beyond the person we were yesterday, or even 3 hours ago,
                           *1 second
Eyes closed, purge the mold, develop sensations and unravel the soul~

Talk to those without something physical to hold.. if you don't already.  Send out intent with the individual in your mind's gaze, and don't wait until you're ready.  The action has been healing for me, and in a way, helps me see our timelessness.  Years have passed since yesterday, but the presence within is here to stay.  May seem cliche but I am who I am because of the love at play.  
                     Thank you
 Forever blessed, moving forward with my eyes closed.  Walls fall, allowing my light inside to be exposed.  When was the last time I granted myself permission to be vulnerable?  This life is a limited-time offer and our body is returnable.  
Eventual satisfaction guarantee, for every star explodes, only to create galaxies.  Look to the sky tonight to feel grounded.  When you feel the effortless love, you are always surrounded.  Waves talk, but the depths listen.  I honor you, fellow cosmonaut, and appreciate your mission
Home

Now picture this... I communed with chaos and conjured up an ancient conquistador by the name of Quetzalcoatl. He called me a chickenshit coward then grabbed me by my cranial consciousness container; and with a chiropractic crack, just like that, my chakras connected and I channeled the grizzled ghost of Ol' Ronnie Reagan. He gurgled a “Hello” and grumbled “Just Say No. Did you know my Nancy fancied ******* fantasies, and that bedlamite believed in astrology and necromancy? ***** better know, it's bros before hoes cuz this ghost with the most is about to get gangsta with my ***** Miki-G... Yo, Gorbachev, you old goblin goat, wipe off that **** stain on your head and tear down this muthafuckin wall.” After guzzling a gallon of ***** distilled through Vlad Putin's ego, he gave me a wink from a glowing goat eye of iris framed rectangle dark... then lowered his headgear and destroyed the blockade like a supernova midnight pool party for Gremlins and grenades. When the dust settled, everything was gone and all was right with the quarks and the gluons. The quasars aligned and spun in a symmetrical dance inducing a trance; showing me it was gonna be a great day here on the shores of Château de Event Horizon, my own private island. Where I will watch my goblin goats with genes of Gorbachev, graze the galactic grass while I wait for a companion to come. Another cynical cosmonaut to converse with through this and partake in this holy communion. Where neutron star wine made from the grapes grown on gamma rays represents the life force of beautiful bombshells of red, brunette, and blonde. Lust-laced blood we bathe and become baptized in; breathing from the baetyl of brume taking Big Bang **** hits of killer kush grown on Kepler 452. The haze making it hard to see, when we feast on the flesh force fed to each other; for we are the Gods creating our reality. Leading to a galactic gathering of groans from groins grinding in tune with the pulsar powered music called Love Lust and Longing. Our libidos sing the sine wave sounds and strum the string theory, for we are the Cosmic Conductors created from stardust now streaming the vibrations of this ****** symphony throughout the fabric of spacetime. Cosmological carnal knowledge collapsing and condensing, the coalescing creates pure light from new stars being born to illuminate the darkness dwelling within us all.

How many are walking through this life
With Helen Keller borrowed eyes
Not seeing what's in front of them
Or what is coming round the bend

Like some spaced out cosmonaut
A porthole view is all they've got
Or a 5th grader at recess
Not much going on in their heads

Reality for most of them
Is seen on T.V. in a darkened den
Not knowing all along that in time
We've become a society, deaf, dumb, and blind

when you live way beyond Pink Floyd and The Dark Side Of The Moon
a cosmonaut, a star ship trouper, space person, David Bowie, A Black Star
we will meet again.