today I would like to encourage the sky to dance about my head

 

wind blowing concrete

 

thick chancer down thoroughfare

 

then question what drip comprising the firmament

 

rubs the noise whitely & static blurred in

 

the first chapter of a book called the Star Maker

 

took me sixteen years to read

 

in every sentence bitter tastes

 

the feasibility of moving worlds

 

away from the body through space

 

once I blamed my infidelity on reading too much

 

sci fi with a straight face

 

this is the closest the world has ever seemed to closing down yet here we are

 

dipping our poems in chocolate sauce & sniffing

 

fingertips like it’s a genuine weekend

 

& not any new slick grey arrow

 

hurling itself out our throat towards bedtime