Camped in a Discussion with Stars
Saturday, April 21 2012
Hammering in a tent-stake,
I take a handful of sand and dirt,
and think of the same cuntstruck and curious mind
that followed me out of city clubs,
that followed me out from rainy afternoon theatres and
midnight kebab joints.
The same mind that slunk through university halls-
and institutionalised cafeteria stalls.
That stole off the back-straps of pretty girls
only to wrap them round statues of Buddha’s paunch.
Tonight I’ll stare into the stars and
watched the phosphate trail round the rock-pools.
Then what’s left to do? What’s left for us pinhole skies?
You, whom I’ve seen God climb from so often?
Looking up for the trillionth time
I’m convinced of some other unfathomable number:
convinced of your vanity.
If you could speak stars, would you
look upon the billions of me and say the same thing?
