Within an astronomical entourage


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It’s been raining and am trading,
whilst my half seems graining;
the half of me leaves this land,
to a life way above my strength.

I am draining into a subliminal pool;
but a pool dug out not of earth,
saturated silence of my own;
and who is here to know?

Slacken to suddendom arrest of barest minimum—
to the right I see no moons,
to the left,
a downward motion of 15 moons—
all encircling my whims.

Like a plaintiff;
the law is not your bosom—
but the bosom pupil accentuation—
by the judge on the supremacy.

Pluto no longer my sin,
whimpering traverse acceptance of anatomy;
yet a click assent address,
where asteroids bleat like angels—
and hosts of comets sing,
all binoculars astronomical theoritical experience.

The Village Thinker © 2014

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