wasted time that enveloped in the aftertaste of beer.
swarming questions that droning in the mind.
the dialectics of the scraped knees
and burned eyebrows.
the sagging couch as the bane of our existence.
a perpetual contemplation of the popcorn ceilings.
above the atmosphere is the orbiting debris,
the expanding universe and lonely astronauts,
incarcerated in the flying hi-tech cells.
longing, waiting for Indiana Jones with his magic whip
and with a whip cracking sound.
with a sonic boom shake the celestial sphere off the stars!
“I hear the remote sound of the heels.”