| rations to Solve Earthly Crises
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| The World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die
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| It’s cold in the yard
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| I don’t know where to start
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| Everything is already tattooed somewhere
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| The real world doesn’t want us in it
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| Everyone else knows how to swim
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| But how could you drown us?
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| Bouyed by the wrath, and the air is thin
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| There’s some halt in the way that things seem to work here
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| The sun’s radiance reaches us in eight minutes but given its age
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| Given the ever expanding nature of the universe somewhere, 4.5 billion light
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| years away its solar winds are breathing fire for the first time
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| Its flares dancing through the dark to awaken the worlds at their birth.
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| is our being this buoyant? |
| is some celestial observer watching us through a
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| series of glass lenses and mirrors, jotting down notes of years ago
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| Maybe of his flight across the country from the place he called home to the
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| place i’ve always called home? |
| if so, on what star, on what precious rock,
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| does his life still shine? |
| i’ve been tinkering with lead pipes and gunpowder
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| Aluminum frames, fein saws and soldering irons
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| Steel. |
| a fishbowl from the attic my astronaut’s helmet
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| Winter gloves, snow boots and overalls over a wetsuit to stave off the cold
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| A notebook of his thoughts to stave off the loneliness; |
| infinity didn’t feel
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| like anything until i was among the stars searching for something that i had
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| loved and lost. |
| let us hope that the duct tape holds
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| And that my misguided science and memories of his crooked coffee-stained smile
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| can lead me to a place where his light still illuminates the days |