11:24 PM

Don't we become too easily mesmerized
by our mortality? Pop's prince remains
dutifully moonwalking along
our mandibles, and we
slap the sides
of our thinkers, Culkin-style, trying
to one-up Death
with Concept. While our brains are
twisting, striving to miss
the point entirely, we conveniently forget
that the punctual rotations we're riding
are limited, preferring instead
to envision the day when
our children, bound to the asteroid
like kites by their
pressurized-air tubes,
make
sandcastles from space-ash. The yelping
ticket-buyers
are desensitized to
losing a home, no longer interested
in Healing The World, going green only with envy
of aliens. Where
there exists no gravity, there can
exist no romance.