an alacritous star rips into view
sneering at me and the rest of
verveless earth
God, Yes!
Give me some magic.
magic makes little cats of emptiness
magic makes the cats into gangsters
makes pubic hair the titillation presentation
of a whistling teapot
makes doing a headstand seem a reasonable way
to get you back
again
the star which I have blessed with
sainthood, which I need more than food,
farting celestial dust,
comes to a hissing grave
in the forever sea
and the sky is quiet on the subject of what else
there is
without the story I told myself about the star
about who I am
about magic
and if there be
nothing else,
let’s sit and admire
nothing
seems alright to do
Published
cdzhouse 