the star sailor
lifted one leg
then the other
and took flight
aimed himself nowhere
saying, “god, i feel
like a rained-on duffel bag
full of vampire feces”
and exploded into moondust.
the star sailor
lifted one leg
then the other
and took flight
aimed himself nowhere
saying, “god, i feel
like a rained-on duffel bag
full of vampire feces”
and exploded into moondust.
It escaped from me, or was ripped from my body by force, this sentimental feeling
God, did it used to torment me . . . watching the clock and imagining it going backwards
And now there is no more of that
I look at something and accept its inertia and eventual uselessness
Death will come in some form sooner or later and I’ll think, “Yes, that is how it is for everyone and everything”
Because if time doesn’t eat it, the white-hot flames of doomsday surely will
(Whoa: did I just write that)