The Right Stuff in Pomes and Epigrams

The man with no name
hurtles upwards, ever faster
he smells of stars
and yet,
no respect!
As though he was just Paul chopping away
records with locomotives
Meanwhile, the star travelers
furnished with model houses
ticker tape topping saintly stories
of splash downs and liftoffs
brave wives and televised lives
Buck Rogers collecting the bucks.
Hardly seems fair.
Couldn’t a chimp do it?
Was the key a surrender,
the sacrifice of trust
amongst dozens?
Go fast or go far.
How do I do both?