Pluto is a Friend of Mine

Flaking my baking plaster
Taking my shaking syllables
And squeezing, wheezing, around a
Lunch-break cigarette
Tepidly, he asked me what happens when
We learn to harvest stars
I’d imagine it’d feel like the silver clink of your keys against
Your belt when you stride the aisles and the
Swirl of stirring silver energy cycling in a cavity somewhere
On my anatomy
In my atmosphere
Projecting, igniting
What will happen to us, he chides,
When the sphere we cast to seize that star comes falling back to ensnare us?
It wouldn't be far, I say, from the violence of a clumsy joke or
The notions that a vowel evokes when
hurtling towards my own dismayed civilization
Projecting, igniting
Think of other things we could do, he presses,
Other means of suffusion
Me, I say, (all erotic delusion) perhaps we could dry
And preserve those stars in mason jars, to discourage
Intrepid flies
White holes, he nudges
That’s the answer
That’s the key
The key
I plea
Should swing from Mercury,
And eclipse into you and me

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