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this is still rough-draft. we did another assignment where he gave us a list of ten "starter lines" and we had to choose one, and go from there. but it's about a cannibal in jail and i didn't think it'd go over well, heh! (the opening line was, literally, "come into my cell. make yourself at home.")
anyhoot, in light of the recent lunar eclipse, enjoy:
sky-secrets
we hang in a canvas of velvet:
grains of salt suspended in (better word for 'thick') ink.
we cannot be counted, although They try --
M124, Altair, and one for Alice's mother
three years gone.
trust, we are souls long gone,
hand-picked by Nature herself
to sprinkle shifting sugar-drifts on the planet
we were plucked from.
trust, that what They call M124
is really that star for Alice's mother --
she and i spend our nights together
brushing Bernice's Hair with soul-fingers, and
dodging Virgo's spear for a sip of night
from the Little Dipper.
outranking us all is Luna --
gracious even when she waxes,
baring her full-milk belly piece by piece,
night by night.
waning, she believes she gave too much of herself --
she turns to the darker side of space, swearing
never to do it again, but she will always do it again.
she forgets that we surround her,
that while the dead can speak,
no one listens.
and even when she pulled your mudball's shadow
over her head like a black slip-dress,
she was still howling despite her decency --
totality means nothing when the whole world watches
what is taken for granted every other
once-a-month.
(hdr)
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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