I found an old poem that I wrote in protest. It seems funny to me now. First Impressions of a Star First impressions of a star: she is bright. She glows. She is high above us. She looks down on us in our dimness. She is beautiful. She is the centre, holding us all in her gravitational pull. We can only be as bright as illuminated by her. All this glowing has turned her skin orange. The strain of constant expression has caused wrinkles to form on her orangeness. I would put her in Arizona or Florida with oranges like her. She is sweet and juicy. The sweet juice drips down my arm and I feel sticky. I try to open her and juice squirts in my eye. My vision is blurred. I see stars. I see one star.
Posted on: Sat, 23 Nov 2013 08:13:25 +0000
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