Door of the Cosmos

I am not in life or love but a voyeur.

When there was something to believe in

I believed and now that there is nothing,

I believe in nothing. I had been taught

how to be perfect but not how to live.

I ride in a rainbow-sherbet spaceship.

On replay, the cockpit blasts

A Tribe Called Quest’s “The Space Program.”

The Milky Way is an ocean of black coffee

holes. From the observation deck, I observe

how the men carry woe atop their heads.