poem

The Trouble With Stars

The trouble with the stars

Is that they are so

Damn far out and sublime.

They give a sense of out there

That over-humbles the here,

Unmooring it from the present time.

These arbitrary constellations,

Like seeing camels in clouds

Or Minotaurs in Rorschach blots

Are just parlor room tricks,

The thick mascara of a wink

From across the ochred brass bar...

Nothing but frivolous temptations.  

Better to stare into a dark void

Than blast off into space

And spend a lifetime

Racing toward an icy rock

That burned out 

Long before its light 

Had a chance

To make you feel alive

That one lonesome night.

We fall in love with bonfires raging 

Across the summer valleys at dusk,

That burn down to embers

By the time we finally arrive.

8/31/21