The Death of Gravity

Tonight the moon hangs close,
eavesdropping on the untold secrets of mankind.
I wish I could rip its wings off,
draw it through a string and plaster it around my neck.
Watch how it drips stardust and asteroids that tango down my skeleton-
maybe then I could figure skate across the galaxies,
tiptoe around black holes,
or gallop across the surface of the moon.

Truth is,
looking at the night sky while creating a landscape of metaphors
In an attempt to describe its beauty
is the only thing that keeps me sane these days.

The galaxies are uncensored posters, perfectly hung over our earth.
They remind me
that gravity will soon die, and I will one day dance among stars.

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