The strangest thing

The strangest thing
about
city living
is the absence of
stars, like baby teeth
you shed moons
ago still
existing, lost
or wherever
your
mother spirited
them away,
little pills
you can’t remember
taking, dissolved
in the
sugar cola fizz
of urban skylines
light
pollution, clouds,
the ghosts
of a million sighs
and street lights
solar bulbs and
gas lamp hisses,
this kissless expanse
sends me screaming
cold away
from people
and lying
in meadows in
dewy bluebottle dark
I inhale
and smile wide
and glimmery
as any whose light
has died before
it reaches you.

The End

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