What seemed to be an infinite orange horizon with you
It was only the last cup of orange juice draining in the archaic eaves of Great-grandmother’s attic
Which I didn’t know was the last time
I would taste inspiration with my waffles.
What sounded like a chorus of Paradise birds on a Mozart Fermata
Was only an echo in the empty skull of Paganini’s mistress
Which cracked upon my spinal trail like a meteor to end the naive ambitions of evolution,
To assert the explosion of a star where white light was meant to worm its way into words down below, but now there is only a frozen moon, a bastard of gravity, denied the right to orbit
And so I wander through this darkness, all the more striking in its intricate beauty
I can see everything but nothing at all
Destiny trembles in my hands
And crumbles, puddles beneath my feet, slithers to the center of the earth without a sound.