The moon is an attic
In a house of asteroids
As if the moon chased
The crown for the dandelion is fields long
And bound to everything.
A poem that steadies on a yawning angel.
To the void, we are as empty as the void is to us.
A bird inside an angel.
A bird out of time and a dusk
The doodle: what is the significance
Of its clumsy lines, fettered by chance?
This is not jest
Scribbled the fool.