icarus and daedalus?

a flash in the firmament.
a streak across the mightily moonlit nighttime sky.
the werewolfen wane is in effect, finally,
but that mutha-b!tchin' ball of cold fire
is still going strong.
what is it that's slashing the seams
of the atmospheric ceiling,
and striking light in the darkness?
a perseid outrider, perhaps?
those rogue trail-derailers from a comet's trailing tail?
maybe.
that's disintegrating detritus,
transformed into brightness
through abrasion, y'all.
y'know?
coarse interaction, on a collision course
fraught with collusion and counterintuitive instincts
for blazes of glory and pyrrhic victory.
got that?
without friction,
and a fall, from or with grace,
it never ever lights up.
that's real.
eroding over eons, in a elliptical orbit,
en route along a ghost circle stretched out across
a fixed point between infinity and the ever-lovin' end-
...
comets leave behind their miniature effigies.
to sacrifice themselves upon entry.
seeds sent to germinate in terminal velocity,
and bloom during deep impact.
ugh.
meteors showers never get you clean.
it's a debris downpour of pulverized potential.
broken off, barreled down, busted, burnished,
blazoned, brazed, razed, and ultimately consumed
on a quest for their very own circumference of influence
and interference to navigate.
sh!t.
a ball of ice and iron,
melting and smelting;
metallurgically surgical in it's
shed and shorn shreds of shrapnelled skin.
a calculated collapse,
a slow-rolled controlled breadcrumb path of particles
evaporating against the ozone dermis of earth and her sisters.
destroyed by contact,
returning over and over,
for the promise of a home of it's own.
i don't know how we just got to this place, neighbors,
but thanks for stopping by.
***********
going nowhere as hard and fast as i can?
yuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
dynamic motion,
static results.
i've got a steel double-diamond in the rough,
and a magnetic pulley that pushes personality
away from reality and brings brutality to bear
in a sweat-soaked spray of physical pure-being.
huh?
check the teleport:

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
one super-sexy bicycle,
one hard-style training rig,
and so many revolutions per minute.
the back tire is a comet,
i'm a meteor,
and i'm somehow out on top,
but we all already know that's too close to the sun, son.
moonlight won't cool me down,
and darkness isn't lit up by my galactic lactic-acid attack.
(that's the result of muscle fatigue, ninjas)
i'm running away,
in one place,
and the stronger i get,
the more i can endure,
but the less i move on.
time is what you make it,
fun is how you make it,
not where you make it.
is it funtime?
i don't know.
i do know that my new friends and i got expert
on some pirate-themed puttputt for my butt.
what?
that's hooked-up mini-golf, folks.
yeah.
actually, i do suck at it.
surprised?
c'mon.
friday night more than made up for friday afternoon.
i'm grateful for the view when a meteor makes contact,
and i'm waiting,
patiently,
for the biggest and brightest one to send me on
the road that the dinosaurs went down;
never quiet, never soft.....