Diesel and Bar-B-Que

 

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

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