bubbly whispers of wind
beckon me away from sleep
with gin soaked fingers reeking of
decadent black hole jazz halls

sent by icy Uranus, hunched over
last night’s take
signaling his wayward band
to observe the pre-dawn
last call
song of the cosmos

not resisting
i flutter outside and up
body unfurling
in a glow stitched field
trees peeled back to reveal
the slow siren thrum of space

wailing an introductory note
inviting me with its
spun flung pied piper call for
backroom bacchanalia

All I am is a tuning fork
the dam of my ear drum
the bebop radio of Mars

the self-important bass hum of Jupiter
hat askew, lighting a cigarette
offered by a passing flirtatious moon

the clarabell soprano of Venus
daintily humming as she straps on
her going out pumps

terra cotta spackled jaw of
Saturn quietly singing Frank Sinatra
as he tunes gravity next to an amp

My eyelashes blink out the wayward dust
of a meteor pausing to watch the show
Electric peaks of overloud bass blasts
ribbon overhead

clash and lace with the screeching
fiddle howl of Pluto demanding a solo
soothed by the eager snare drum of Neptune
bustling in to make sure
time’s tempo isn’t glitching again

shouldered aside by fierce elbows,
settling on his favorite rock,
Mercury’s rust stained crags
wink in and out of view
as his grey head bends over
indifferent strings carelessly plucking
the billionth pattern of life

not even looking up as the planets
dance in and out
of my grasp

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