What can YOU say in six sentences?
Sometimes you can see stars disappear, all the way down here where you’re lying on your back in body-warm grass, alone, breath streaming up and away.
Obsidian sky defeats all fluorescence—it leans over your body like a stern parent. You feel small but unafraid because the sky just wants to make sure you’re still looking, still watching, and introduces you to things you cannot understand, or undo.
You watch alphanumeric shivering diamonds not straight on because your retinal attachment gets in the way. No, you look a few degrees off because if you look at things straight on, well you might see things you cannot understand, or undo.
Stars disappear before our eyes, holding cards, facing cameras, telling their pain, while we in some distant galaxy (where bullies surely reign) can hear laughter, laughter because they’d do it all again.