The night sky scars our eyes,
stabbing silver needle holes;
Stitching our stare like black
thread through stony buttons.
We stand transfixed, mouths agape,
impaled by ancient spear heads,
bleeding out
spectral luminescence
until we are but
phantoms gazing across
galactic planes of checkerboard
mist. Our skin, goose fleshed.

written on 03/28/2013 by: Matt Kane