Falcon Heavy

There’s jazz going on
heard only by our shared
and secret skin,
laughing at the silliness
of all this hide and seek,
and so many stuck still
in the first act,
like asking which star
is the middle.

Meanwhile they are all
a centre,
and you still have the next part
to play,
“Don’t Panic” printed
on a screen sent soaring
somewhere north of dreams,
manifesting a music in the way
“Made By Humans On Earth”
is burned onto the motherboard.

The biggest practical joke
a universe ever played on itself.

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