Beyond the belt,
planets undone by circumstance,
out where light dwindles into dreams
of all that will one day be and then not;
recurrent themes orbiting,
a line of lovers all different, all the same.
Out with the small rocks, planetoids, comets,
the bang and the whimper, tied with strings
or severed knots, a starman can think -
though, with the absence of light,
ideas fold in upon themselves, become wormholes-
and in the warp of all that contemplation,
a starman can drown beneath the memories of what is
compared to what could have been
if only opportunity was weighed
instead of the reinvention of past whorls.