Space Junk
What a weird life.
In this unincorporated outer space.
The swingset that floated over yonder.
I got younger with smells of lavender.
I got the sweetness in my eyeball.
Undressed feelings like whatever is in bubblegum.
What’s a weird life?
If every move is drastic yet floating like a dismembered piano?
Like magnets over there, and over there too.
Sounds cramped in outer space.
Like a spider whistling.
What a weird life.
There’s countless types of life out there.
This one is leftover for me.
Space junk.
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