The prompt for Thursday's poem was to pick a branch of science of social science and use the jargon. I chose to use Astronomy in mine:

GALACTIC

I want to be born in a 

protoplanetary disk.

Crumbled concrete samples

my battered skull.

Brain knocked forward,

left eye blocked.

Ripped out tail light,

tap, tap, tapping with my breath.

Not dead yet.

I want to be the radiation pressure

of the solar wind that breaks

baby protoplanets.

Raw knuckles scrape up

blown out windscreen,

as I blink, blink, blink.

Generating from my core,

I want to be my own magnetic field.

He stares at me, benign, pitying,

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

My God's kind of an ass, I think,

as a siren crawls into my ear.

Love from Pullman,

The Blonde and The Bullshit