Small Universe

There were eighty-eight
glistening constellations

draping a night sky
across my back porch

with eighty-eight spiders
flaunting fat bottoms

and midges, gnats, flies, all
streaming into black holes:

just a slight hint of the tragic
sense of life in all its glory

then the eternal silence round
the back of the eighty-eight

constellations terrified me a little
and had me scuttling back indoors.




© Nemo 2020
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For me, wonderful poetry, Gerald, your muse appears to have caught up with you again with the advancing years; much enjoyed read! (Shame we lost earlier comments).
Regards, Trevor

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