Poetry

Playing the double life,
coming apart at―
the seems.

I was thinking aloud the death of a
supernova, and here
an araucaria burns out.

Hands unknown,
someone mixes the cards
of your fortuity, and you
become very rich.

You couldn't carry
your happiness and crashed
on stairs, like embedded
in quicksand.

I regard this a
slaughter in broad daylight.
Sun was pierced by a
blistering eye.