All the world is lost in space
And is a stage on which we play,
And all the stars look marvelous
Spread out on black page.
The funniest thing I can think of is
That we too are stardust sprinkled
Like pepper on the surface
Of the earth.
All voices are simply songs and screams
And whispers in the night
That reassure a frightened girl
Whose hair is curled
And gold in firelight.
I can think of nothing better
Than to talk of cherry blossoms
In the Spring,
And about the rings
Of chopped trees
Telling tales through their rotten
And tiring lips.
A secret kept for so long
Corrodes like wet cardboard
On a sidewalk,
And your breath aches and falls away,
Tumbling like water
From your frosted throat.
We too are stardust,
Lost in space on a stage
Folded out of black paper.
The stars shine,
Except the crooked one in the corner,
That one that sputters
And oxidizes like silver.
The crippled heavenly body coughs
The star-blood drips from the sky,
The black page,
Trickling through your frozen teeth,
Spilling like so much milk
Out of your broken mouth.
©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.