Look Up

Sad Galileo's suffocating in the length of lens. It's all so far away. The light coming so long after the source is dead. I could never get close enough. To see it alive.

Vultures. On their wooden wings. Scrape the bones. Bits of carcass become a feast. If you are willing to reach far enough inside that dead thing. I could tell you how I knew, but you wouldn't believe me. That I woke up one morning and saw the truth. It's over. It's over. So many times before it actually is.

I traced every one of their faces with a sharp number two pencil. I drew so many beautiful skeletons. But no flesh had they to feel with. No muscles by which to move.

She'll call it art if you let her, but she knows it's only living.