if you haven’t eaten in days
dip your fingers into cheap white wine
lick them.
it will taste like buttered bread
heaven for the starving
the hell of the sacred
what I could
not fathom carved caves
deep it
was sickening
sadistic
to know
the knowledge was fucking
that actually it was galaxies
galaxies growing inside of me
all the while I was tilting toward them
outward from the earth
away from got sick with their
whirling I could not understand I was
too
small
too little a thing too
thinking a thing too
human a thing
to not be sickened by their beauty
no communication.
no language.
we want them they don’t
know us don’t know how to know
the way we know each other
and so sad a way and so
small
how we die gaped and haggard and hoping they know
heavenly bodies that don’t give a fuck
we name them after gods.
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