CONSTELLATION
assuming the feral position
in the loadshed dark
on my bed
with a dying cat
my
beautiful dying cat
I cannot wait for two
weeks to pass and I hit
what just has to be
my final birthday
don’t give me
rebirth
I would be
kicking and screaming against
the very thought
of consciousness
possibility
of coming back
not to be u grateful
not to disrespect life, that
sacred most
magical
of things
but thanks but
no thanks
leave me be for that trillion years
until the Universe is a dead weight
of iron and
burnt out coal
and the last civilizations who had
their faith who had their dream
are
long long gone
maybe
like us they had their astrology
astronomy cosmology
their genius mettle.
born under
the constellation
which loosely
translates as the dying cat
poems 2 die for 