asteria (“etched in the stars”)
will i find your worries between ursa major and her daughter? or are your devils buried beneath limelight quasars, letting nostopathy clog your pores, your stars, your scars?
a portrait, a painting, a mirror:
asteria, my aubade is for you, your prophecies are mine
the villanelles, artisan, aged, sleep on silk against casseopeia’s breastbone
cassette tapes: soundtracks of tourniquets, playlists that you cauterize beneath
the stab wounds that starlight inflicts,
major and minor, may your anguish whistle to the meteors
and incinerate against your luminescent physique
cartilage, visceral, wrapped in infinity’s inky cloak /
interstellar corpses stranded in a comet copse
rest your head as the universe picks at your scalp,
etching her sinister truths into your skin and beyond /
asteria, hold your necromantic repertoire close
or fade against the nebulae, the stars overtaking you at last.