stars are perhaps the most magical thing of all
in her otherwise unmagical world

constellations steal her breath away
as they sweep across the sky
in a never ending rotation

she sits on the patio on her roof
to do so
she sneaks out at one in the morning
and tiptoes up a metal spiral staircase
outside her house

she lays down
and looks at the stars in the clear night sky
there is no pollution down at that private shore
and she is the only one up and out
at the time in that place

it is only her
and the stars

If I were a Unicorn nibbling on Roses
I would stomp my Hoof and Snort
That men Exist, I should Suppose
I would shake my Silver Mane
And rake my horn upon a tree
That men could exist, Non-Mythically
Such Tales are whispered by the colts
Unicorns know the very Idea Revolts,
That Unmagical Creatures may be
Walking Upright under the trees
With a Quick Swish of my Tail,
I would Deny the very Myth,
That men should be, indeed
For having no Magic you see
They Lack  the Will to believe
But, never will this Myth Disperse...
Should Men exist 'twould be the worst

I hide behind the trees from people, my own thoughts, reality, and you

the waves sing your name
the stars draw a picture of your cheeks
the trees hand me a crown of magical leaves that forbids such things as you

I'm far away from everything else
my plan almost worked
but I found you sitting and staring at the door that I escape to whenever I turn everything off, you're there and I can't do nor want to do anything about it

I guess what the waves, the stars, the unmagical crown of leaves are trying to make me realize is: perhaps I miss you

We like to model out series of tubes and wires
By the ritual fire in front of us,
Enlivened by televised fantasies—
A blind voyeurism we all can get off on.
Even though they hold one another
They are at a distance ‘tween cushion and screen
Only spectacle can traverse:
And in that space, what interference can be picked up?
They lament, he is no Jim to my Pam,
No Ross to my Rachel, no Minny to my Mickey
Even as they open the much anticipated
Season finale—will it be a Hollywood ending
Or a cliff-hanger till season two?
They find themselves, casting rotten tomatoes
From the battlements of Magic Kingdom,
At the couch where dispassionate kisses can be found
Scattered like candy wrappers, uninspired scenes
And derivative dialog, throughout our series—
This is not why they watch themselves,
To be bored of the mechanical nature
Of the tunnels, cathodes, an unmagical pathways
Running tightly, quickly through the human body
Guided by natural false promises and selfishness,
In alternating currents in solid state
Afforded by code, by the same of ticker tapes
And DNA and theatrics
For others to binge on jealously and make love to
Until their own lives come into view
And pose the question:
“Are you still watching?”