bathed in autumnal star lights, a
starlet smiles
coyly
for the cosmic camera
light on lunar lipstick
heavy on Milky Way mascara
as befits the current style
she strikes a pose
but the portrait that emerges
from the dark rooms
out in the recesses of deep space
has no face, only
books, beetles, horse nebulas
and hollowed-out eggs
that tip over and break
their yellow insides
oozing out nice and slow
melting like sunshine sap
mixed with meteoric resin—
resonating with radio noise
which (hands-over-my-ears) is
everywhere
my god, it’s everywhere
cluttering up the air waves
triggering a tsunami
of gravitational waves
that ripple out in seven-quarter time
spilling, spilling, spilling
as nonsense words never stop filling
the cracks and crannies
of infinite silence
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Gretchen Tessmer lives in the deep woods of the U.S./Canadian borderlands. She’s published short stories and poems in such venues as Nature, Bourbon Penn, Strange Horizons, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and F&SF, as well as previous appearances in Kaleidotrope, with her poetry collecting several Pushcart, Rhysling and Dwarf Stars nominations along the way. | |