I applied recently to go up on the space shuttle.
I'm smiling because I think my odds of being chosen
to do this are pretty slim.
But I would like to go very much.
And I've written a poem about the space shuttle.
I don't think that this is going to work the oracle for me--
my writing them poems about it.
"By all-star orchestra, they dine in space.
In a long steel muscle so fast, it floats.
In a light waltz, they lie still as amber,
watching Earth stir in her sleep beneath them.
They have brought along a plague of small winged creatures whose
brains are tiny as computer chips.
Flight is the puzzle, the shortest point between 2 times.
In zero gravity, their hearts will be light, not 3 pounds
of blood, dream, and gristle.
When they were young, the sky was a tree whose cool branches
they climbed, sweaty in August.
And now they are the sky children
imagine as invisible limbs.
On the console, a light summons them to the moment.
And they must choose between the open mouthed delirium
in their cells, the awe ballooning beyond the jet
stream, or husband all that is safe and tried.
They are good providers.
Their eyes do not wander.
Their fingers do not pause at the prick of a switch.
Their mouths open for sounds no words rush into.
Answer the question, put at half garble.
Say again how the cramped world turns.
Say again."