Saga of the Amphetamine Astronaut

Look out the dirty window glass,
beyond the concrete towers,
toward the hustling gantry of the street.

Prepare for the journey,
by chain smoking Kools,
while waiting for the second hand to move.

Stumble out to the launching pad,
nonchalance in a tattered sweater,
in the blast furnace heat of the dark city night.

make the hookup and suddenly...
contact!
connection!
ignition!
you've got liftoff without countdown...
when the boosters kick in
the white hot rush of acceleration
send you a million miles into orbit
where you meditate on the universe,
write poems in silent rhymes,
make policy decisions with God,
anything
to make you forget
the fuel
will soon
be
spent.

You're only a heartbeat from burnout,
when the orbit decays,
the crucible flame of re-entry...

Aborts your soft landing,
slams you back to the empty void
of the asphalt sea...

Stumble back to the ready room,
wait for the next launch window,
to send you back to the stars...

Frederick E. Smith, ©1990

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