O Iron

Out there, is life formed?

Here, much is oft destroyed,

here the fabric is torn,

tinker, potter, anoint, alloy.

Take a little hydrogen,

turn it into helium,

all the rest follow that one,

well, you know, kind of, I'm dumb.

No idea where I'm coming from,

in the Local Bubble, edge of the Orion Arm,

have no sense of space or wrong,

think my blip is blessed charmed;

no idea where I'm going,

make it up as I go along,

is it all sucking or blowing?

Oh, Orion, I'm iron and carbon...

Slap-happy, getting there howsoever,

while Saturn devours his sons,

vanity, a taken: this is forever,

Good Lord, what haven't we done.