A Star Is A Prison

Know Of The Poets Transfixed, Hypnotized

Know that the poets transfixed
and crucified to the showboat
of the stars have all fallen,
their gums and those teeth,
white, bronze, yellowed and black,
shut up in the clasp of dreams,
the opium of falsity dressed
in the rib-coloured gowns
of a better tomorrow.

And in their eyes are the sunken
lights long lasting yet now at last
gone out of mind and out of sight.
For the fires of yester years are not 
the fires brimming bright tonight.

Dreamers never sleep,
the hourglass' epiphany is simply
the weight of the desert without
water and this charred and barred body
needing an oasis for salvation
begs for the weight of stars
as they skate across the night's ice.

The moons spill their chalice tonight,
the baptismal wine of galactic lies
cascade as the new tide at half-light,
the new flood to ark in the next generation
of star feeders, of light keepers,
there can be no stars that are sanctuaries,
all stars are prisons, and all eyes upon them
the wardens that keep the great game running.

A new day yet and the sun also rises,
but for what?