Some Days.

Below is a dumb poem I wrote the other day in about five minutes. It is about cosmonauts because cosmonauts kept coming up the other day. That’s how my life is some days.

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Cosmonauts Get Thirsty.

Cosmonauts Get Thirsty.

by james bezerra

Cosmonauts get thirsty.

Infinite cloak of night

across their seconds,

minutes, miles, light years,

lives.

Cosmonauts get thirsty.

Slingshot out past Moon’s silent gravity well

8 months on

to Mars. No one brought

a flask.

Cosmonauts get thirsty.

Boredom gets heavy. Inner monologues get nasty.

No bed in months; instead

sleeping pod on clockwork curve

of spacecraft ceiling.

Cosmonauts get thirsty,

hurtling silently,

swiftly, un-return-ably

to alien red dot on

the dry black edge of infinity.

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