Flugelhorn Stars

Why do the flugelhorn stars
touch so many of us?

Just a bit closer to the mountains
born across thousands of planets.

Mountains all across many homes
we look at
in the midsummer sky
remembering something
we carry in our blood.

Our eyes call out.
Joyous.
Celebratory.
Lonely.

These are gold, far off
flugelhorn stars
that
our theories of physics confirm
these
theories that made and make us.

Star Fields

At night we lay with each other
a human
and a feline
across a place of star fields
we dream

Penthius
Prosthylkass
Zyvar

Places of the endlessly living

Bent fist and paw
we claw
back to mortalhood

With the sun bleaching out
what was known of spirits

we wake to live with
and love each other
not knowing why we love

what has been made amongst
the particles
pronounced in arrangement

Star Fawnus

It is a circle here.
Star Fawnus.
Two stars circling around
each other.
A solar system beyond them.
All that comes into the circle
is mineral and ghost,
and ghosts are everlasting.
Rocky hills.
Smells of brushy oak.
The burned tallgrasses.
Clouds sundancing
and night holding onto rain.

It is everlasting here,

where we have lost love.

Entertainment Plaiming

Crystal,
let us forget the consequences,

crystal,
let us leave the planet.

Although our settings were incorrect,
crystal somehow propelled us
into the outer orbits of stars,

by Penthius and Glaxxian,

where one can see oneself
in the mirror between dimensions.

And rocks and dust fell outside the window
as
we headed towards that point in Space
to where we did not know we were going.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Both Brains

They let him go
when he was young and dying of cancer,
drifting through outer-space
they let him go,
the last people’s race of people
didn’t own him,
floating past nationalism and liberty
as cancer an eternalness created
archetypes of the sufferer,
the fear of the shadow,
just the vessel of the genome,
we lift you up to the cluster,
the ridge of stars.
Child without childhood
reaches for your fingers,
the seven wrinkles,
your chance to perceive things

but it ran away with the forms and
words of humanness,
just the vessel of the genome,
information is transferable
in
this
standing in a field before a 7-11®,
a parent kisses their child at college
in Kansas.

They got to go to college,

wave, wave . . . waves

but wave to the abilities of Einstein,

those crackling transmissions of the
Pentecost,
those crackling wavebands of gray.

Jesus saves.
Computers save.

 

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin