Nov 2016
These constellations are just stale light.
Dimmer than the orange haze from streetlights,
Each proudly signaling the triumph of mankind.
These constellations are dead beacons from afar.
I need no north star to get home,
Street signs guide me just fine.
These constellations are bright ***** of dust.
Romanticized into patterns,
I can only remember the big dipper.
And passing planes.
These constellations are lifeless light.
Dimmer than the orange haze from streetlights,
Each proudly signaling the triumph of mankind.
These constellations are dead beacons from afar.
I need no north star to get home,
Street signs guide me just fine.
These constellations are bright ***** of dust.
Romanticized into patterns,
I can only remember the big dipper.
And passing planes.
These constellations are lifeless light.
