To await the gorgeous stunned star formations

holding candles to the offspring of giants
like ill-composed meters of holy granules
songs for the asking and tempos for alters
sing me nicely to sleep under star formations
where I will bother the cosmos with my tea,
with my teachable moments under precautions
and julep sun strokes like memorable eye
movements, of dacite and obsidian roses,
weather where music halls had such a milling
grotesque pretense like the motion carried
in my gullet and the nouns of my appraisal

the trapeze of car songs and musical inhibitions
I have outlasted the outpost of desire
and the flogging of the temple redress
I have no longer submitted myself to the star
of borrowed time, but have refurnished the sky
like a miner too deep in the cavern to renegotiate
lower pay, no stunting, no passing, no paraphrasing,
just the star formations to sweep over us
like painting of a mire in the abscess of ratchet
bending conquest that could take my ear, or my small
delinquent memories of the past, no, no stars
no stunning star formations here in the attic
of downing marked oppression, just time and sadness