I Struggle to accumulate
Post mortem photography.
My pockets are empty,
Save a wallet full of I.D. and points cards, and an IPhone 4.
When your zone is boarding
Pack your memories and acquaintances,
Your dreams, triumphs, and regrets.
Leave money, body, and society.
Whichever age you acquire,
Lay your irises on the horizon
And prepare for liftoff.
Atoms, cells, to galaxies
Bound by gravity.
We tango in a concentric circle
Slowly, barely feeling a thing.
And eye lashes.
Pioneering through space and time
Broadcasting the music of recent generations.
Speak nothing of history.