planetarium

city lights burn the horizon like a southern aurora borealis
when the winter air is through-combed with darkness
with darkness and suspended darkness
and the constellations hang like neon “open” signs above all my dim emptiness
ai aniron
my neck creaks with the weariness of watching beauty

sometimes I am a shell exploded on a battlefield and I have the audacity to desire the stars

to be the sky that shines them out
to absorb the desperate burning
the rippling energy that curls round itself like a gymnast mid-vault
to shine light from my hole-punched heart

what should pollution desire?
why of course it must be the objects in the universe most bright
could the warped metal of a broken weapon be repurposed
as a star-projector?

ai aniron undomiel
I crane my neck and reach my eyes until I lose my balance
but then I see my shadow on the wall

look how they shine for you

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