perhaps you fart whole galaxies
a whole slew of star systems
every time, after every meal
of someone else's dreams;
of dreams fed nightly
on a steady diet of falling stars
and fervent wishes,
of imaginations now slowly
measured by logic and reason.
no need for a fork, or a knife
to carve, to cut them in manageable pieces.
whole, they are eaten whole
and the sound that they make as they...
as they go in your darkness
cannot be described
cannot be painted
and they light up like fireworks
as they bravely go on their last hurrah
but only another feast for you.
May 12, 2009
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