When the dead look up
We are their constellations
Until we burn out

Located in the prime location
Precisely at the right spot.
Squaring up the square
Laid to measure on the map.
Equal each side a cube stands
Aligned to the column
brimful every inch.

What now? ‘Looking for a margin,
Wide margin in the solid core.’

Like a human wants to turn up here
From every corner every nook.
The star splashes into its constellation
Like the sun and the moon
Love to wrap around here
Through the fastest route!

What now? ‘Everyone wants a margin
Wide margin where it matters all
It couldn’t be more brimful.

You held every star in place,
        keeping a glimmer above me.
Never letting me be alone
                                in the darkness.

Every grain connected echoes
of your voice,
                     uncertainty pierced
that place and I looked above.
Dots connecting to a constellation
                       of you setting me free.

I was never alone, you were the shooting
                     star that I wished upon.
Grazing the atmosphere of my troubles.
                 You were always within me,
looking at you I see every constellation
                      glistening above me.

I’d rather be in a starship
Visiting the stars
Than be a star.

Stars cannot retreat to remote asteroids
And turn out the lights.

Stars cannot drift loosely
among the constellations.

Stars cannot drink in
the uncertain darkness.

I gave birth to a star once.

He is a beacon
Attracting other celestial bodies
Into his orbit.

He grows brighter
With each ray
of admiration.

His admirers revel
in his cheery glow.

Sometimes he is blinded
By his own light.

He shrinks away
At the mention of shadows
Which must be eradicated
At all cost.

I offer him my hand,
Beckoning him to join me
In my starship.

He shakes his head, wordlessly.

I let go
And promise to meet him
Wherever he may be.

Sometimes my mind is off
and i’m not there
neither here,
sometimes i’m just a ****** burden, not much of a help
my mind, like a constellation, there’s just too much in there that i couldn’t bear
sometimes i just want to sink, disappear from all the things that exist
but you my love, you’re exceptional that despite the destruction of my soul and my mind and my body,
I will always be there, when you need me,
or when you don’t

when does the night become us?
at what moment is the soul raised to the sky?
death, say some
and some ask why

the stars are dead,
and because we watch them miles and miles from where they rest
we are still fascinated by
these flames that hang in shapes and forms that make up our night sky

but what if our night sky is really not made up of bones?
if the stars don’t dwell on our dead bodies or take pride in a corpse,
I would in fact believe that
the sky does make up your soul

I do believe your heart's the moon
and constellations map out your veins
so when they ask if our souls look down from above,
I'll say I'll ask when I see you again

Look out in the field when you drive by
Look to the ditch that your cruising beside
Look to the grass and you will see
Look upon that constellation of trash
That tells the story of how we treat
This street
This neighborhood
This town
This county
This state
This country
This continent
This place
We call home