I don't want the American Dream
Just a diluted version
The semblance of being remembered
Where the sight of hinds are fuzzier
We sit here sometimes
Waiting for the sun to set
Pleased after a long life

The homeless couple that passed me
Rambling that the sun was so harsh
They were young too
Too young to be making the many steps that it takes
To homelessness
Somehow security didn't work into their worldview
Until they were at the counter of a fast food restaurant
Some pride still remaining

I would like to die at dawn
Peaking around corners
Before I can approach the contradictions
Where the sun is clean and soft

(1) Hand full of warm air
(2) Parts of cold air in an opposite direction

Hold on, pull out God's hand
Place the index finger in the middle
Swirl around ensuring an even yet disproportionate mixture
Take hand out
Cross fingers
Why do you need to cross your fingers?
You're God

Wait approximately 30 days for proper congealing
Serves thousands

How quietly nature dies
In radiant sunlight
In soft breezes
Under cumulus clouds

Roller blades and I have had a turbulent past.

First, they lead me to my first and only cracking of calcium and marrow, dizziness, laughing cousin, Aunt vacuuming, passing out on couch.

Despite this I always made me goalie because I could stand upright longest and could also move laterally, an important skill when forced to stop a puck. Summer were full of video games, flirting with girls vicariously through the said cousin, and roller blades breathing in the 30 m.p.h. air on their way to another event in the back of a pick up truck.

I came running down the hill at dusk, the same hill that had claimed my arm, flip flops cracking the pavement and then peering over to find nothing. I spun around as my brain processed the information, nobody steals from me. These were cheap Wal-Mart, beat-up roller blades that some punk would now be putting their feet into. There was the cracking of the door and the dizziness of shock. These doors would now forever be locked, no they won't, but they were at the time. It is funny how it wears off. Who was it, a Canadian?, that said 'Locking doors separates us from society'? Well, I separated from some people that day. 

It was a long 30 m.p.h. home. Even with the sun setting softly and the breeze lingering in the cab of my little truck.

I have to admit as I am getting older, I find myself giggling at the youth as they find new ways to interface with old things.

I am assuming you must mean I am in 'outer space', I mean I must be now the funding finally came through. Otherwise you would have to transport me into some former time, like the 60's, and I do not have time teleporting capabilities.

Maybe that is a perfect day for this forgotten astronaut. I would be the first to find crater 654b on the moon, I would take some moon dust and put it on a protective plaque. It would eventually turn colors as my grand kids asked what it was. I would go into an elaborate story about how we lost thruster number 2 and barely made it to the moon. That moon dust is a bit like beach sand but not quite as thick and loose. Or how cold it is in space and how I thought about taking off my protective helmet a couple times to see if I could breathe in space.

Right now, however, I sit waiting for Mars as the funding dribbles. Nobody wants an astronaut discovering old things.