Haley's Gone

These eyes took hold of comets

Breaking fractals alongside sulfurous sky. 

Bend, fold, ignition wick sending Major Tom 

On a mission to hug Ursa clouds. 

Weaving trioxin dust kissing satellites 

Tongue fucking the cotton candy gamma rays. 

A dripping Pripyat on the cone. 

Big Sky Country: Exclusion Zone. 

Sipping the stifling sputters of nostalgia 

Tight rope walking Voyagers clicks 

Holding hands with radiation 

Cusping the inflatable nitrogen. 

An awe-inspiring Zion 

Shoegazing blips, light years missed, 

Whizzbanging wicks, 

Strangled on subzero-gelato whincing sneers 

To the frostbite-thinking blisters of a stinging throat.

Oxidized taste, the verdant coolant 

Moving within the ignition intake. 

One more bite, because we like to flirt with disaster.

Step on up! To the Great American Shit-Show. 

Celestial Canopy wrought of iron, A Nyx reliquary. 

Gaseous NOx, in flux, to parameter tracing the golden ratio. 

Galileo, our descent: Haley's Gone.