My stars
I write these dreams I spin upon beds of grass
That you have plucked pollen from
Wrinkling in the deeds of arms clasping
Around the griefs that speed into sheets
Of uncommon use, unwilling nature
But I have never been fire-proof
Searing through the pages
That have bungled my bundled-boisterous cage
Until the utters of my conscience fetches wings
Heightened unto the Dionysian ecstasy
Where the square-foot membranes
Bleed a true thought
A constant inconstancy trickling down a throat
Spilling into your pool of fancy-fast blundering
A swill upon my fingertip
Reaching towards your veins, until the breaking//
Splattering through foaming seas of concrete
Rising the cracks
The breath of the snakes on the wall
Push down every inkling of hope
It’s a gushing onto flower beds
Releasing the stems unto unadulterated pressure
And exalting the ever-stalking vision that I trace
You are my stars, and I need my stars
A constellation to peer past
The always-disappointment
To make birth with tragedy
And feel the warm sigh on my thigh
Comfortably; And swim in an arena of spiderwebs
Chosen the wily-conscripted line
Dreaming and yet not dreaming of you
It listens to me, I am the grief surrounding the stars/
