A Dark, Unconscious Inheritance

I lay beneath and within these cold, cold tiles,

            (Like this opened heart of mine,

            smoldering into age.)

wondering how a star, being all things to all, 

can weave such dark work

inside enclosed



Under this roughly opened, starry sky,

            (enveloped as this abandoned present,

            daily keeping us alive,)

I fully heartedly think…

I half-heartedly think,

how stars are pushed inside a wound.


Well, yesterday I was told how we are dyed blue above,

and I wonder

            Even if we hold as told to the ground below,

      how can one avert to be pulled into the ground above?

And I wonder,

            (Will we remember to obliviously follow such stars?)




Photo courtesy of: goonphotography



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