Tonight I sit with my dog
underneath the murky skies.
Together with my beer
and his empty stomach
we look at the tragedy
of the heavens
for it failed to hold on
to the lights
that kept memories
the sailors once mapped
as they charted
the unlit seas before them.
Well for me what is charted
in the memories of my fingers
is the dusty fur of my friend
as I ease him to forget
his hunger for life
and the last can of beer
I kept in my dead fridge.
If below us are memories of the sky
would the memories above
be of the uncharted seas?
Maybe, because no one
could ever see what lies before it
without throwing voices
and bodies before it.
What if,
I wonder,
I throw myself before it?
Would I chart it like the sailors of before?
Would the stars before me guide me on my journey?
No, it will be a tragedy,
for we in our craving for guidance
would drag me and my memories
into poles and chain me
like stars.
Poem No. 7 for this week’s poetry theme, “on summer I toil, on summer, I dream.”
kaleidoscope sparks of defiance 