Star Shooting Star Squared
Where are the Manga books old man librarian?
My answer is channeled into space with feeling.
A reed quintet gathered in the reading room.
They came all the way from UCLA.
An emptiness crossed my crooked path.
A void of eloquence is the last thing in the sky.
I point toward the pancakes layering the Milky Way.
It was the morning for all mothers to return the legs to stand on.
There had to be a shoulder nearby to cry on.
The last leg in the universe was part of the ethereal story.
Cotton balls were sparkling in the night sky.
Speckled by a bad dream maybe falling into the bus lane.
Extinction has stretched across an investigator’s tongue.
There is no political shock big enough to rattle any Black Hole.
I am no bluebird on the wing, no ground squirrel dropping acorns.
I stopped at a rural roadside motel that has free Wifi.
There was a whoosh of Christmas cheer blanketing Forest Lawn.
I began picking off all the low hanging stars stuck outside of Palmdale.
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