Earth is a ringed planet. A teenage faggot is a body orbiting low atmosphere
The ground and its people swing them up like discus, but not enough to break
Escape velocity. Thousands of blue-haired children float in the solar breeze
Like a Kubrickian slide. The richest men on Earth launch garbage into the stars
Like a parade. Shiny plastic moonlets. It’s all rainbow. There is no one
Connor Colbert is a writer in Seattle, WA. His poems can be found in Automatic Body, Safehaus, and the backyard. He is a member of the holiday-folk band Wet Whitman and enjoys daffodils, hand-wringing, and staring at the moon.