i know the kid shooting for the stars;

scratchy

beat leather jacket

bliss clenched

fists full of

electric flames

bursting inside of

you—let’s

mess with the

heavens—grab

that space

dust and toss

it like

a coin

sinking

beneath your

cotton sleeves, keep

your head up, kid

zebra striped

laced up leather

boots—tether

you to the

earth, but your

heavy head

is somewhere out

shooting for the stars,

keep

your head up, kid.