why is this baby in space

in movies they always punch a hole
in a piece of paper to explain the mechanics
of wormholes and faster-than-light travel
suddenly a gap in the smooth white
sheet its edges ragged with fuzz
little fibers feathering over the pit of confusion
hesitating blind over the giant gap
to the floor (this is still a scene in a movie)
(and the hero is going away)
(the hero is going away for a long time)

i am shivering in the metal seed hurtling 
out of the dark bad hole that you shot
for me and my therapist says you tore a portal 
into the stars--the black obelisk, the high fist slamming
a bone into me, the lurch of sudden nothing
freefall scored by a choir of moaning bells
(i hated the song of the bed)
(the bells made my teeth cold)
(but i'm glad the music helped you die)

during the climax of this film i start to lose it
the red worlds pulse and burn 
pushing my vomit out and i watch it blob
in zero g, i'm curled up and babyish floating
lungs grabbing air like a newborn cry
a crumbling shell unable to move or do anything
i dream needles and blood up my nose
i count my fingers to stick my soul in place
and i blindly go

and the little metal ship spits me into the black gloss
of dreaming--

                      finally i can stand up
and tell the folks back home that you live still
on the other side of that torn paper, in the words they wrote
to explain where i would be going
and i think i can see your tiny light in some star's orbit
yes (i tell them over the radio) 
(my voice crackling through years of distance)
that's her boat