bedtime and other revelations

All the mighty emperors

on all the little planets

orbiting dying stars

envy my diminutive sunrise –

the delicate super novae

exploding in the endless synaptic galaxy

that orbits my illusion of self

has not yet succumb to the inevitable.

Mother Mary yearns for

the soft touch of a little one’s fingers

through her oil paint hair

just one more oxytocin exchange

with her little miracle.

Dark energy is

just as likely a cacophony

of Pink Floyd outtakes, dark matter

the space between Motown and creaky sunsets

but still it spills outward

where I reach

and reach.