Every stray hair
fallen from my scalp
over 44 years –
a sigil dissolved
of selfish (in)action
Count the pennies in my eyes
and place a safe bet
on if any of the struggle
was worth the price of admission
You manned the oars
engine stalled, water rising
two by two, and sevens
all the way down the tunnel
Portraits of renaissance
that barely missed the mark
and remains of what could have been
now swallowed by nemesis Virgo
We’re chasing our
own ouroboros
along streams that appeared
as spirals from the stars
Turns out truth
is full of dark matter(s)
a vacuum through the center
hollowed out and holding breath
five points in the galactic code
vibrate from a primal spleen
coughing up facts in the desert
when we’re searching for
the fucking pail of water
all these promises of new ages
felt the same at the cusp –
lit brightly, spilled over, quickly spent
