Deodorant sent them to space!
And Richard Branson, to the Moon! 
There’s a big box in the pores of Apophis, 
The stain on the void and the silence and stone.

Now, the bounced checks make rounds in Judecca.

(I’m shaking my head to thaw my fist.)

Down here spare time has me looking up:

One floats by and I spite and spit 

—I sit and I swig and remember an untouched life…

For every dime in every cranny of the void 

I’ll just count out and 
Count on the same, 
Plain misery beneath sub-orbit.

What’s a man to do 

But comply with gravity, 
Tip back venom, 
And bitch?