The opinions of stars are dead

I’ve tried tossing love into cracked dirt

hoping to buy assurance from Mother Earth 

but as I count stars they glow with laughter,

a buzzing hive of miss matched chatter.

My nightly prayers light themselves on fire

with the dusty embers that sparkle down

from the fluttering eyelids of cosmic blemishes. 

But I must try not to forget,

the opinions of stars are dead.

Gone now for billions on billions of years,

so there’s no reason for my hurt howling stare

yet, my arms stretch out into the vast emptiness 

we’ve started to call my side of the bed

as I feel for the hands that will sow my grave 

and repay my sin by snipping my marionette strings,

Until the encore of the worms restarts everything.

the infernal stars go on squeaking!

Setting off car alarms,

Buying off shadows. 

Ive tried tossing love into cracked dirt

but ever time I try I hear the twinkle of a smirk

too far away to be anything but the rustling silence

belonging to the influences of the universe.


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