Thursday, December 16, 2010

Pawned Constellations

In yet another exercise in humanity’s

coarse narcissism,

businesses scour night skies like

fish tanks and saddle stars with

earthly names and proof of

authenticity claims,

Smell of cheap cash

leaves rancid emerald stains

and invisible slave chains

wrapped around merciless

telescopes who hope to

rape the evenings close up and personal because

why wish upon any random star

when you’ve got your own,

a scam so contrived and trite

we’re forgetting to gush over

Hallmark poems and semi-precious stones,

why buy roses when whoring heavenly bodies

can get the girls to jump your bones?

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