Moreover the comets spill water—the vehicle of life—into space

somewhere in the space beyond the drafty windows

there’s an asteroid a third of a mile in size      brightest near

the beehive cluster     elaborately teased and lacquered with

aqua net     from all the borders of itself covered in acne

scars      a metal plate in its head     seized by severe doubt it

merges into traffic tentatively          at home comets are dull

dark  chunks  of dirty ice  and  dust  but fling them

headlong into the sun’s gravitational pull and they can’t

stop the hot plasma in their pants  it’s     put your balls to

the wall lady     coiling and twisting     nucleus hot enough

to ignite their spongy crust     you can’t love suns     you can

only love a sun           no zipper merge           they narrowly

miss the black bear in search of honey as they     collide

and crash     into a hollowed out tree          the police list

resident status as creation story leftovers          side bar

observation—comets are fragile and weak     ripe to mine

and colonize at a later date     funny coincidence—meyer

guggenheim mined silver in colorado in the 1840s     his

son benjamin went down with the titanic     earth’s water

comes from asteroids not comets     in a billion years it will

evaporate into space          they are all on the shoulder as you

pass  in your fully loaded obsidian blue honda odyssey

but long before     this house     my nana’s house     a dwarf

planet  so not a planet at all     but still a planet then     yet

big enough to contain five     and gravity     to eradicate one

and his name        my nana  the sun that ignites slab bacon

in cast iron     dame heat miser     my parents at a dinner

party     she playing solitaire in the tv room     me bundled

up  sweating  sudden  swoons     i float to the crown

molding  to talk to my ascendants caught in paranormal

activity     instantly gasping for breath  in the luminous

sphere of plasma  held together by their gravity     falling to

the shag remnant  never to rise again     she an inflated and

immense red giant     trips over the cat and says to  no  one  

in particular     We are fragile Mr. Sorensen!!!  Hang out,

the Moon     then combusts into her parents   passing as

huge clouds of gas and dust

i find my way home to     my nana’s house     my house

a dwarf planet     so not a planet at all     where an asteroid a

third of a mile in size will glide past     my children  our

little duchamps  who will be shaped and sent to a 3-D

printer     sleep deeply under spanish stars made of  

noxzema and bacon grease  por cook’um     thank God for

atmosphere     soon i will teach them to cast themselves into

the sun     but that is another day     tonight is the closest an

asteroid will be to earth in 200 years     speeding across the

skies longing to crash  don’t worry  NASA  says  it turns

out all right  it’s not like the earth will be pulled into the

sun without warning!     after the first accident we all start

to relax     meanwhile if anyone wants proof they exist    

consider heating some metal to brand     courage and pride

across your chest