Stars fall on my head
You laugh that I like to
dream on paper when
It’s something official to me,
like a contract
like a statement
like I sign my life away every time
my thoughts end up
in your eyes and mind
that’s what it feels like.
But for you,
are unmoving
despite my weird thoughts deluding
my ascent to stardust,
you lay on concrete
with magnets on your back
that spell out my name
calling me down
so I can write something new,
something metaphysical,
something that transcends the stars
that may not be stars anymore
but the vision is there
and they fall on my head
when I write it anyway.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
My strange thoughts on this poem:
Even though we see the stars, some died years ago. Some are a complete illusion. Just like thoughts, we may have the vision even though to some they mean nothing, or they have no correlation to the truth, we still envision ourselves with things that aren’t even happening. I love how art lets us express that still because that’s the nature of our minds. Write it anyway.
