The stars are lights that give no light.
They tease, but do not aid, our sight.
Peering at the stars at night,
Knowing stars partake of light,
We see stars, but faking bright,
Only points of ruined light.

If stars are light that give no light,
Can I be satisfied tonight,
Knowing eventually your beauty will be
Likewise this fine nebulosity,
A star-spray covering me
With my own seeing, and to see
You floating neither here, nor there,
But seeing your light everywhere,
Brings me to a bright place
That shines so I may see your face,
Where I was brought before,
Stars, my roof, and the bright floor
Of evenings bright for a time,
To brighten a day. An orbit. A rhyme.

Love forbids modesty and shame.
The galaxies are glad I came.
Love forbids secrecy and pride.
A billion suns welcome me inside.
Dim planet!  What is your name?
Where is your ocean, your cliff, your tide?
Moaning in an orbit far away,
Turning in a universe that lacks day,
Dreaming of nebulae who never say
What stars will greet your love today.
What telescope? With naked eyes I saw your flight
Sun-chased in the unfathomable night.


  1. marcusbales said,

    December 21, 2012 at 4:17 pm

    Mayan Doomsday Calendar Blues

    The air is pounding on my skin,
    the sunlight hurts my hair;
    to rub my fingers on my chin
    is racket I can’t bear.

    This wouldn’t be the Armageddon
    aftermath I’d choose –
    I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.

    I did the lines, I smoked the pot,
    I screwed what I could seize,
    and now the doctor says I’ve got
    a dozen STDs.

    So now my only hope is to
    convert all the Jews –
    I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.

    I maxed out every credit card,
    I spent my pension plan;
    I’m stupid as the avant garde
    and poorer than Sudan

    And what the hell are all of these
    exotic tattoos?
    I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.

    When some prediction picks you,
    belief that really sticks you,
    anxiety can tighten the screws –
    and then you start depending
    on universal ending
    instead of on your rational views.

    I hope that you avoided this
    and thought it was a hoax
    and stayed as neutral as the Swiss,
    and laughed at Mayan jokes —

    instead of peeing blood like me, and
    bleeding chartreuse.
    I’ve got the Mayan doomsday calendar blues:

    Those feathered-serpent stone-carved long-count
    calendar blues —
    the news was all over the news.
    Yes, Q’uq’umatz may now consume the world
    and then snooze,
    But Mayans only brought me the blues –
    Those hooker-making, mushroom-taking,
    nights fueled with booze –
    the Mayans only brought me the blues:
    the Mayan doomsday calendar blues.

  2. thomasbrady said,

    December 21, 2012 at 5:00 pm

    Marcus is going to open a blues club right here on Scarriet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: