I am ready to go back to outer space. It’s my place, recognize the faces, the foreign shapes. I know the people of my race. And you are catching there at home plate and I’m clear off in left field. Not at the second stupid base waiting to make a double play. I’m out in orbit waving goodbye as I rocket far away.
Rain delay. Too much dumb, damn static in our game. Can’t hear the signals, too much atmosphere. Houston, we have a problem: I’m burning up here. Arm’s singed to rubber. Bottom of the ninth and I’m patrolling Pluto.
The only way to win…
Lover, you just never knew what it was like to kick around in my shoes, sleep with my childhood rules learned in Sun, Sunday school. And I won’t count the sleepless moons I tried to appeal them for you. The shoes are broken in, the fans have gone. The laces are long, the currents are strong and I could drown in my freezing swimming, swimming pool.
Behind in the count. Risky day for lift off, stars dealigned. Three balls and two strikes, zero gravity. Jammed comms, windshield cracked from your impact. Who’s that in the dugout? Guess I struck out. Broken hearts hemisphere.
Tears in space…
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