Sirius uprising
She’s the son of Orion
Somehow compelled across realms to
Well to

Can I see a twin star?
I don’t think I see that far.
Dwelling in the future
Oracle-style
Ask me who is
The one

My head keeps pounding. I can’t focus
my eyes are frosted.
I lack direction.
I crave connection.
But I have perspective.
I elected to respect it.
I’ll persevere
in fear
that if I don’t then I won’t be real;
repeat that mantra;
hide the Achilles heel.
“I can’t believe in you forever.”
Even though there most likely is no objective truth,
and though moral values and ethical principles alike are subjective, constructive,
we could pool our thought
to settle
on a mutable schematism
of shared public consciousness,
by which we will faithfully conduct ourselves
for the sake of the human condition.

So yes it is possible
that you know me,
but to assume
would be too much.
I seek your touch.
I need your time.
It’s not enough.
I want to hear it,
have it sketched
or do something;
etch
it into legend,
into sand,
into stone,
into bone.

I’m a venture.
Maybe a loss.

Straighten me out.
My bones are hurting.
My heart is stone.
You’re sand departing,
already blown.
My love is starting.
I’m coming home.