Because I am able, and
hungry as a ship’s waking crew,
I swallow Saturn’s
cables, aware of them as they ring
my throat on the
inside; I feel like a Kayan woman
but different. My
hands rub the throat’s parched skin,
especially the apple
of my Adam, help each and every ring
escape the many words
spoken, find their home within.
Saturn appears not to
mind my needs, has none
of her own, or if she
does, they are needs I cannot
fathom - the thing
about planets is their silence,
the way they drift
through the void never needing
to draw attention to
themselves yet managing
to do just that; thousands
of planets, like eyes,
watching, as they wait
for the moment consciousness
lets go of the
trajectory and floats also in the void - apart
and a part; finding
solace in space and companionship,
in the letting go of
words; and yes I understand the irony.
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