Sometimes it descends on me,

like the weighted presence of an upstairs apartment.

Its beams, light as bird skeletons, and

blended sound waves fall like laughter.

Prodded Capricorns pacing,

waiting for their ship under the overcast expanse.


Sometimes I bid myself to hunger for the place,

not hinged by self esteem,

not hushed by powder,

not swayed by the curve of a brow.

It is equally cruel to

all unfortunate things.

Cold as glitter fastened to a skyline.

It will open like a ring box,

and flash shut, embarrassed.

I can see it,

and fail already.

Soulless stars mark suicide

with sudden frosts of shriveled tears.

Permeable and luring as lace,

compliments do not push the sun into set.

It is uninhabitable as the heart of an asteroid,

it's splotchy skin content as a halved population,

their strangeness is singular and suspended from orbit.


It accentuates all colors,

but is not neutral.

It is molten.

It is nothing,

no destination.

The messengers are random

and disloyal.

They are all adopted,

a jolt of neon lightning.

I will correct and prey

in my lead-like earthliness.