Silky stars lay languidly over liquid space time. The waves are gigantic, but the stars bob along nonplussed. In one star, a cartographic adventure for the minute minutes that compose our lives like a symphony of laughter. In another, hell in all its fury. My fear is a feral, focused thing. It escapes fire only to be crushed by brimstone. I wish that I was a star beaming out over a thirsty universe. Instead, I am dark matter. I sever and shiver.
Miniature Moon 