my belly is empty
and the house is noisy (hammers and finger nails)
and i am thinking about michael collins

who got to the moon but didn't even get out of the car

sweet Mike they called him on earth
on the army bases where his dad served
because he was unfailingly polite
and always held the door open
waiting even if you were miles away
at least now he's the director of the national air and space museum

the hammer and fingernails are ringing forth
rapping-tapping-drumming
who said to stephen, "stephen your politeness will be the death of you"
who said hamlet was a retiring book-worm?
who said the cosmos breathed in and out of that moment?
who ever said, "oh pardon me" and didn't lose the war?

so here's me joining up.
up for whatever ranks it is that we're marching in these days
sure, sure
the angel-headed hipsters
sure, sure
smeared in effluvia
sweating and stinking
please
please
please
i will be --> that
do they serve stars in the mess hall?
i hear they do
(re)assure me they do?
because i want to eat the fiery dust and purple mist of the outer reaches of the galaxy and wash them back with the drippings of trickling rings of planets i have never seen before and smear on top of my celestial toast cream cheese from so many light years away it has taken generations to bring back and i want to learn to pronounce names of foods that contain syllables i didn't know existed and have to relearn all sorts of glottal stops to grapple with

please?

am i asking too much?