Our room suddenly fills | with the corpses of stars | floating | We welcome them in | We are royal | A lightning | silence | spaces our thoughts | Take out | your silver | teardrop earrings | lay them aside | on the dresser | let me | kiss your lobes | pinprick | holes in your lobes | Tiny | portions of darkness | I will carry away | slip them into | a greater darkness | lift them out | slip them | back in | On their sides | our old stories | rot, we | are still young | we’ll leave them | by the trail | their carcases | hollowing | Some | still turn and | whinny | or moan, legs | mournfully kicking… There will be others | we are | just starting | Yet, I wonder | as we | walk on, and I | look back, are we being | too cavalier? | Maybe those were our | best stories? | and these | are the most beautiful stars?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, July 2013)

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