I declare war on the stars
who continue to plague me with
answers to questions without margins.
Do the celestial beings way up above
pity us mortals whose wings
were clipped eons ago?
downcast and reticent, I withdraw
with each phase of the moon–
my righteous anger
boiling past boiling point.
Does the moon and her cohorts
mock us as we fail to grace her presence?
Engine fuel set aflame with dinosaur waste,
Is like a garden blooming with entrenched furrows
budding with delphinium monstrosities and
reluctant pupils. A bowed head with sprinkles
of hair, pale as a cistercian moon, and encapsulated
in the arched fang of a perpetual fiend, I journey past
the mundane and the monotonous limpid flow
of Life’s derision. If I close my eyes,
will I ever forget the melancholy taste of night?
Prevail, prevail! Send my loyal soldiers
swaddled in wolf’s fur and cow dung…
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