On Kepler-22b and Hula Hoops

back when we were young, and the circle seemed not so cruel
nor such a fickle one with her always coming back around:
clouds and what’s their character

to me it’s all matter:
of fact
of the air vibrating laughter
and plastic circuits ringing
the frequency of daughter:

torn around the corners,
Super 8 soft focus–

back then it was purpose:
all gravity and halos,

heavenly dynamos to the starry eyed
Greenwich Village inevitabilities;

but now the hula,
done for the setting sun’s return

seems not so sacrosanct
if this Earth should shrug us off the furniture
to send our own rich pursue another.


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