I do everything from afar
inside a head of recompense and scattered stars,
even this poem bears a close resemblance to
a speeding meteor–
it may fail and fizzle,
fall feathery to the ground
like the atmospheric phenomenon of snowfall,
or it might crash and sear the earth
with a splash of lightning
leaving a mark of notoriety.

I’m in a chair of solitude,
what do you expect from a particle of matter?
I can’t always be an incandescent observation,
sometimes I dream of a pale horizon
and what lies beyond my own simplicity.

I’m perched high on a point above Mission Beach
with vivid thinking, islands dot the Coral Sea.
I’m not sure where I’ll go from here–
if I should ride a streak of light
or if I should fabricate a stone-faced bridge
to the Great Barrier Reef, over the cliffs around the pier
where a lone seagull parks on a buoy
and squawks of a trip to Pago Pago.

I don’t know, I might rock until tomorrow.