Plot me a course
somewhere far away.
No anchor and no compass,
just the stars to guide me.
Wind in my sail,
or single stage
solid fuel rocketry.
How I get there
doesn’t matter to me.
It’s time to escape.
Things are getting weird.
Like living in an apartment
and the walls
are becoming clear,
so we can see through
to things we never used to.
The threads of our sanity fray,
so it’s time to get away.
I hear that space
smells like
diesel and bar-b-que,
but I’m not sure who
can breathe up there.
I’m becoming
painfully aware
of things that used to be
in cages,
stalking everywhere.
Good fences
make good neighbors.
Common sense
makes more haters.
So, I’m out of here.
I’ll see you later,
maybe.
If there’s still time,
where I am going.
So strange to see
what the world’s becoming.
It’s so easy
to want to see
a grand plan,
rather than entropy.
The universe changes
and we’re in it.
Nothing ends
at the same point it begins.
You’re gonna die
a couple million miles away
from the place
that you were born.
We’re all going away.
Better get it figured out.
It’s time to cast off,
engage the countdown.
Hope you’ve done all you can do.
The next world will smell
like diesel and bar-b-que.
HG – 2022
