"'The fundamental point is that we ultimately are made of this stuff -- 'stardust' from the interstellar medium', Andrew Westphal, associate director of the Space Sciences Laboratory at UC Berkeley, told The Chronicle last week." Keay Davidson, from the San Francisco Chronicle*

Alright then. Scientists have collected particles of 'stardust' from comets, the stuff that supposedly created the conditions for the develpment of amino acids in space. Great. If this stuff doesn't spread and kill us all after those geniuses uncork their little space capsule, then I highly suggest that they take some of that stardust and smoke a bit of it. Might help some.

Seriously, though, (what is "serious"?) how can we theorize stardust poetically? What is the stardust of poetry? Or, perhaps, how is the stardust of poetry?

The imp on my shoulder answers the latter question: It's doing just fine, how are you?