Europa in Satin or Titan’s Gas Hatcheries
All for the birth, and the warm hatchlings sang: Shout, Shake, Shine!
Our lives are coming home to Titan; the gassy propylene contentment
is life’s easement on property lines; singing a frothing la la tat la tea la
There’s heat in the moon, if viewed through the right lens, la tea tare la
Our first true space travelers will be lei plastic container manufacturers
pushing the lines of assembly out, up, oh la la ti to hues of orange fade
On Europa, past, a haberdasher bleeds remorse for fine satin fabric decay
Its warp threads, never caught and looped by mirror planets of the weft
so the weave falls apart, becoming the darkest black spot la ti gleaming
in a hatchling’s eye; come full stop, infrared, bring out green’s gritty desire
showing its truest all-color back to us in the hydrocarbon haze
floral winter cream’s lace, which cloaks the creatures of other Worlds
for all hatchlings know: they Live… in the Waters
speaking in nature’s groove, ridge, groove, oh la la tat la tea la
Talk, vocal ultraviolet, to the hive in disarray, telling us new riddles to say
Are those bundles of gas queer hatcheries for Titan’s teaming natives?
do we wrap the unknown in hopeful satin and creamy lace for a new chance,
a new beat,
a blazing fresh change of pace,
blindly shooting our one lasting-lastly kiss, forever on, to Titan’s Bloom?
K. Shawn Edgar | Firespawn | Dubious Groundhog | Lapsed of TimeSpace