Saturday, March 28, 2015

An Endless Confirmation

A billion stars are nothing
more than three fat men,
white and inadequate
as their terrycloth coverings,
sweating in a rancid steam
of mentholated complaints.

One star, though, barely visible
behind a thin gray slouch
that limps between Mary’s Peak
and Quartzville Road, is an endless
confirmation I could never
have kissed her goodbye.