We headed out to the deep sand deserts, driving Cadillacs.
Brought along the fixed-gear bicycles to help us pass the time;
hours breaking boundaries in Fear and Hope on this blue planet.
At night, we viewed grainy 8mm slides showing an RV near the house.
It wasn’t our house, yet; it was the People’s projection of safe harbor.
Onward now; sending bio-transporters flying to the Saturnian moons.
That’s what they predicted, in black Courier bold typeset: November 30, 2016.
Superstar, adventure-drunk scientists wrangling the Chroococcidiopsis.
Lil’ soil samples from earthly deserts, fully able to grow Red Planet oxygen.
The sound of sickles was the sound of space sisters working alien fields,
breathing familiar, Earth-rich, red-blooded air as if it were the Northwest.
Because we bundled teeth with heart, our ships sailed dark matter oceans
to lovely new shores, bright with our future-positive lifelines.