it is this small thought
of faraway cosmogyral migration
that keeps me awake at night.
in the waxing crevices of my easily distracted mind, young daphnes waltz.
i believe in fate
when the last drops of milk in the supermarket gallon jug are still cold at the end of the night.
and i like to think that if i’d created the universe,
i would have let those drops fall through the stars instead of into my gaping mouth.
i sometimes find my heart floating in some orbital way,
but i don’t leash it.
like a trained lapdog, it returns to me in times of antiquated heartache.
ripples on paper trace my staccato heartbeat—
an orchestral applause to the spectacle of silent supernovae.
i observe the fading universe.
my world skips past me at frame rates faster
than my naked eyes can see.
in this early waking state my lashes are sticky and tangled,
and i fight the urge to rip them from my face.
dolorosamente, i retreat once more.