Chronicle of a Dead Planet

a chronicle of Mars
baked into the dark side
of a crater
the size of Texas

statue of a centurion
guarding a dead
planet after millions
of years; nobody
told him the war
was over

listen to the news
and you soon
realize it’s easier
to sell doom
than hope and light

and Raquel Welch only shows
up in a fur
bikini once upon
the good
old days

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Mars Is the New Mars

we can see by the light
of a setting sun
that point where the crater
meets the glare,
far end of a one point
perspective, a past
history that doesn’t end well

in some cinematic universe far,
far away a land exists
of destinies fulfilled without effort
or hardship or consequences,
and every flesh wound
heals before it began, every body
blow lands like a marshmallow,
every dead hero is resurrected
by a plot twist
at the end of the movie

here on dry land
we have handguns that shoot
real bullets to your brain
and sometimes they don’t kill
you but maybe worse you wake
up brain damaged and blind;

goodies and syringes and
hotties popping bottles
seem so good until
they go in the wrong way,
where rebates and refunds
and re-dos
lay far out of reach in
space
and time