4/22: “mass extinction”

stars, streak, hurtle past,
i’m going home, at sweet long last—

i’ve miles to go before i sleep,
centuries long and oceans deep—

i’m coming to the promised land,
swift and hard and back of hand—

clear the path for my way home,
a landing site, no more i roam—

one track mind, now, burning up,
see every ill-fated crisp buttercup—

through the atmosphere, and closer now,
but i won’t be stopping anyhow—

cleanse the earth now, make it clean,
i bring us the cretaceous-paleogene.