Saturn moans and crows
Into the paper cone of a black hole;
Mars waxes silent for bluer times
Which no one minded to remember.
The farthest stars tremble in thin, pregnant air,
Beckoning for each other’s warmth
With twisting flares of flame.
Everything expanding to contract,
Living death, it would seem,
To meet no end at all.
There you go again,
Blasting Boards of Canada
On headphones that betray
All privacy!
Your nose deep
In handheld devices,
You wonder, listless, when
Life might serve to entertain…
The carrots and ranch you
Roll over your tongue
Are your ambrosia,
Your eggcrate mattress topper
A cumulous throne.
You’re itching for divine suitors, but
All who call upon you are those
With zest for: dog, local travel,
40oz water bottle,
Essential oil hand sanitizer in
200K-mile sedan console,
2.5 precious children 401k dream.
Are these not your ilk?
If they are not,
You will die a damned hermit.
Hypocrite! You sigh
And stare listlessly into
Your reflection on the wall:
Who am I not, then?
With that, you shapeshift
Into regal, heavy-beaked swan
(To better elicit affection)
And flap out the window,
Presumably to fondle the curve of the sun,
Carrots bouncing onto dull carpet.