Poor Icarus

Father says to fly to the sun,

To outstretch my arms and reach for fame

But be careful, he says, my son,

Because there is a deadly thing too terrible to name.

No one talks about what the stars do,

Behind the closed doors of their beautiful houses

sitting on beaches in Calforina’s Malibu,

As if the cold ocean will them douse.

Icarus wants the fame

With all the hurt it will make.

There is no one to blame

But those who cause orange bottles to shake.

But still, he uses their needles

And poor Icarus, away he wheedles.