Steven Federle Poems
Blue days race
to starry nights.
to panting dreams.
Power is brief.
The mounting sun
with youthful strength
lusts for noon’s brightest heights,
but ennui runs deep and gently receives
the sun’s fading fire,
night’s growing pyre.
We walk secure, grounded, heavy, oblivious,
safe from perplexing weightlessness,
unlike Life Savers candies on Atlantis spinning theatrically
as glittering Las Vegas floats beneath,
or those rusty spherical droplets
of Tang, humorlessly drifting over the Indian Ocean;
we are safe even as Kubrick's treacherous computer,
tenderly releases the cradled voyager to drift reeling away,
receding, smaller and smaller, no longer a man,