More Postcards from Outer Space

III
Virtually

The trick is remembering real really isn’t.
I’ve seen the fabric pixilate.
Vincent saw a version swirl.
Onto night it printed stars
and he rolled them down the sky.

The way to tell they’re all asleep
is to dream that you’re awake,
and paint Abraxas blue and red
(coming & going)
and be everywhere at once.
They used to make drugs for that,
but now they just paw the pain.

When all the people with a clue
hammer home a jig of the puzzle,
and all the noise and nonsense fade,
we may forget how to die.

(If I send you a postcard from Pluto,
an old one that still says “planet,”
would you send me some breathing air?
You’ll probably have to can it.)

There are only so many I’s in infinite–
it’s a matter of finite infinity.
You can fuss and fight to get five more years,
but four will be pain, and one for paying.

The trick is refusing to play when the pain is fondling you.
Much like fire, Time only burns when you’re in it.
And just like fire, Time only lives to consume.
When there’s nothing left to burn, Time and fire cease to be.