my age (of Aquarius) Was once a real space cadet with my star wheel, Tasco telescope: a ten-year-old sky refugee, moonwalker, light months ahead of Armstrong, the cosmos a nascent theory of mind beyond mission control, primeval, where peace and love steered the stars, veered through mystic nights, adrift in the Seventh House, Jupiter and Mars aligned awkwardly with my birth— And the song daily orbited the interior of my father's Parisienne (not Galaxie!) until like any Sugar Sugar, its saccharine thrusts fizzled, the dawning of an age done— Not so, however, the undying collapse of nebulae, promises of new suns: this homo signorum steadily rising in cadet corps rankings.
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A beautiful trip
It's the dawning of the coming of age