And this is the way it goes,
No bright stars, new loves for him.
But one old city, full of
Broken, brilliant people,
And a sky filled with monsters
Waiting to eat them all.
(Free verse, the poet said, is like playing tennis without a net, but he's not sure he has a ball either.)
But any stars would be bright
Only because they sit on the edge of explosion
And his heart's been broken
Time(s) too many.
People are fickle,
And Atlantis is older than memory--
Fickle too, but faithful
(As long as no distant relatives show up).