a handshake of stars rockets through my lungs

a bird’s
cobweb aura mimics the sun

scribbles of my life in naïve haircuts
fastened to the arrowhead of the moon

my past lives
rustle in the grass
onto the eye brows of crows
past the curfew of doomsday
i study the dawn

it’s not tuesday anymore
the stars have arching chins of doom
but I’ll not retreat

stay true to the visions that
can change your life stay true
to godless puddles if not for
marauding sunlight through
this brain if not for bean
stalks of desire I never would have
grown this mustache of doom

without a bathing suit
in the arms of stars

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