Making one eye glint and the other sprinkle
Bipolar feelings of erasing your conscience
Holding a little spoon on a flame. Burning
To a wispy white smoke, sneaking through orifices
On the underside the nose. Sniff and inhale
A little crack, a little dirty, with a little baking soda
And the spoon is no big dipper, yet you
See her clearly like glowworms dappled on the sky
And fireflies with clipped wings falling in a pile. That spoon
Holds your fears on a pyre and immolates every
One of them. You feel your plumage brighten
And you dance like a bird of paradise, on a tight wire
Until your eyes are weary and a strange confusion
Saturates the meadows of your spacey sky
And all the stars have faded now. The sky seemingly
A graveyard of supernovas and you’re sucked through
The navel of an hour glass to become a memory.
A speckle too faint to call a star. What no astronomer
Will ever gaze at. I will only be a face on a high school yearbook
Of a boy who dreamt of going to space.
And he did, on top of a table spoon.