Exteriors

flashing lights and a tightly wound clock,
a never-ending waterfall of mass-produced body parts
and machinery with solar powered heartbeats,
a digital anatomy
punching holes in the night to let sunlight filter through,
artificial stars locked into conveyor belt constellations.
we could fall off the edge of the horizon tonight,
it will only be tomorrow when we wake up attached to heart monitors,
Houston, we are in coma.
we can't change the shape of the air we swim through
if we refuse to breathe,
so let's drink to the night and drink the night.
we pull oxygen through spiderwebs of nerve endings and tin foil,
to fill our disappointed lungs in a last ditch attempt to feel something.
if we don't come back in one piece, or not at all,
they'll chisel words like Stellar and Fearless on our headstones.
but we were nothing special.
we were only satellites on a forgotten wavelength.