I hate the Space Around the Stars.
He’s like soft cold stumbling love.
He pierces my mind and pours me out onto the sidewalk.
He falls in jigsaw into my conversation.
He’s impatient and leaves me without words.
He runs away and leaves me with nothing,
Except the stars themselves.
And what are those?
Are those any better than the Space?
Balanced and kind, they wait.
Oh, sure, they wait.
They wait for destiny.
And for help to come without them asking.
Well? Has it arrived, oh dripping starlight?
Your taxi cab to a new life, oh starlight?
Is that any better than leaving me?
Waiting to leave me?
No, it’s not. No.