the satellites bleep

and so she orbits
satellites bleeping.

dave matthews songs sound appropriate yet

galaxies twirling and concealing themselves through defiance and

stars imploding without noise.

dead bodies effortlessly drift on by
trussed up like slaughtered chickens

cling wrapped.

‘it all comes from the dark place,’
he says.

‘no, that’s where it returns to, to fester and brew,’
she says.

that’s all, then.

until next time.

until i write again.

2 thoughts on “the satellites bleep”

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