not even a thousand

stars would fill the distance
between us now.

lined up in thirteen constellations
across night's rim like a poem
collecting dusk.

fallacies and jealously they run
the dark matter's ridges, postulates
in search of a wand, pentagrams in need of a gong.


i am rhyming now as if enchanted
by a scorerer's tongue. demanded
scribblings on line from gods, aa bb cc d

so infantile, swallowed like the sea
by locusts of clouds....oh wait not,
wait now i'm just pissing into the ether.
sorry if you've followed me down

. one thing i'm glad for.
you rarely slept
with me so i don't have to get used
to doing it alone again.

it's just the other time of night
but i have writing and electric light.