Between Our Smoke Stacks and Our Stars

Cleaning products clean our floors

but kill our land.

Our nature sparkles

between our smokestacks

and our stars.

We burn we rage and we burn again and we get burnt to live to rage

again ever glowing ever knowing even after the death of centuries

knowing souls of poetry rise to sing divinity

never to be never to be

the immortals sing in the face of death

while we mortals scream.

Still, it’s not all that bad

given what we’ve been given

the presence and presents of the immortals

who dare share their gifts

wrapped up in books and poems and paintings of livid, vivid landscapes

poetry in 3D

and we live knowing history is born to die

and so are we

but not yet, not today

so let us be buried by sky wrote the man in the basement apartment

sending his words up through the ceiling

to satellites that sent them back down like Mother Ganges Herself

scattering into raindrops

across a planet that can click with spiritual enlightenment

at the push of a button

or there’s porn at the site next store

the entire universe awaits to be Googled

we’ll get the answer right if we Google the right question

Does God exist?


according to the first site that came up on my Google search

the same site selling trips to Canyonlands

heaven can wait

I’m going to Canyonlands.


4 thoughts on “Between Our Smoke Stacks and Our Stars

  1. Steven Myers

    i love how this flashes between a basement and a sky
    and everywhere in between.
    i feel like a centipede with wings and
    really enjoyed this ride
    and the question you lead up to
    is answered with amazing gusto
    you the pitcher throwing in a 3-2 count after 12 foul balls
    digging in despite the odds favoring the batter-
    you immersing in the moment down here in the valley,
    the canyonlands,
    the K can wait.

    1. cottonbombs Post author

      It’s kind of like winning the World Series and going to Disneyland in reverse. We get the ride, then we get the win. And your description of pitching to such a stalemate reminds me of the shock I’d get on the mound any time the batter hit my best pitch. How the hell did you do that? That was my best forkball!

  2. granbee

    A terriffically accurate poetic mirror held up to our societies in the so-called developed world, dear Peter! Thank you for your raw blatancy and yet balance reflection of how we are as “modern” societies! Well, God is not really ready for you just yet, so enjoy Canyonlands, okay?

    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Rose! That poem wrote itself. I didn’t know how to end it, so I Googled, ‘Does God exist?’ and there was my answer: Canyonlands. I booked my ticket this afternoon, I’m on my way there tomorrow.


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