Frabjous Times

poetry sequence ghazal scifaiku

Still they burn

ghazal
The machines say “Their stars
are nothing like your stars.”

Riding my bike back,
the sleet like hard little stars.

The sorghum so high now
she cannot see the stars.

A bullet finds the porch light;
it falls into stars.

I came a-courting,
but you just bring up the stars.

The last of the wild honey
a syrup of stars.

The killer lived here,
his yard overgrown with stars.

Wrong words, wrong thoughts
one wrong life out among the stars.

“Your daughter’s grown,” he says,
“where she walks, I see stars.”

Juice streams fom the apple press,
cold as dusk…as stars….

The dirt here is holy;
it too once dwelt in stars.

The outline of her long missed face,
pricked out in stars.

Microscopic the madman’s smile,
small as tin stars.

“Liars,” the child screams, “liars!”
damning those false stars.

Licking the pencil’s tip
she tastes the stuff of stars.

Drunk on temperance,
this fool burps both moon and stars.
Originally published: 2007/10/08 22:56:33