I have a history of being rejected.
So how does one become a poet.
Where my insecurities pose as
Irrational fears.
Like the threat of a bite mark
Left on you like strardust.
And the constellation of irregular
Verbs.
Verbs that follow you.
Like a meteor crashing down to earth...
But only with a whimper.
Where magic tempting fate is non stop....
Splat!
Alas, the King is dead.
But what now.
Let's name a Comet after him.
We'll call it:
Something for another day.
Right now I'll sit here and enjoy
The copper moon.
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