All posts tagged stars

On Nico Stai and Falling Stars

Published January 3, 2015 by April Fox

I wonder what happened
to Nico Stai
with his sloppy voice, as if his words were drunk
and he was sober singing, trying
to bring them safely home

He spoke of falling skies and I was trying
to hang on
while the clouds and stars and sun
lay at my feet

You sent me Victor Hugo and I read you Dylan Thomas
and although I wasn’t mad as birds, I must have gone
a little crazy, in the hours I lay restless
stupid sick insomniac
remembering the cadence
of each sentence that you spoke

I built a vault inside my head to keep you in,
away from everything
that hurt

I sent you pictures of the moon
and we were corduroy and woodsmoke,
constellations hanging over
threatening to crash
and burn us up

In the dark, your hand still feels the same
stretched across my back
and in your sleep, you sigh just like you did
the night that you broke free
and kept the sky
from falling in.

Zoey, Shining

Published January 15, 2014 by April Fox

I’m looking through old things to read at an event coming up, and I found this, written three and a half years ago.

ImageZoey, Shining

there was a star-
a tiny one.

it blinked in the darkness, looking down at the world
trying to find a home.

the clouds were thick, the rain fierce
and cold
the wind thrashing about like an angry animal
suddenly uncaged
and the star could not
brave these things
and so she stayed
and waited.

eventually the clouds grew so heavy
with their own importance
that they joined the rain and fell
and fell
and fell
and then they
and the rain
were gone.

the wind screamed and raged
until its voice grew hoarse
and then silenced, defeated
the wind gave up
and laid down to rest.

the star, always
was watching.

with the sky cleared, she was able to see
to look around, bright-eyed
ready to make her move.

the star was brave, stronger than all the brighter, bigger stars
and taking a deep breath
she closed her eyes
and fell.

and the sky opened up to catch her
and her light made the world come alive.


Published August 16, 2012 by April Fox

here, with adjectives neatly stacked
like hierarchal pawns
eyes blurred, caffeine burning like the things i used to do
(i’m older now
and don’t get high on life
or anything)
i want to walk outside and see the stars
to taste them, though
to climb the air that reeks of disappointment
thick and fetid
coddled, making steps-
and touch them
burn my lips and fingers with the
impossibility of
being up there
touching anything
not falling.

to describe them, though
i’m so sick of words that i could spit
there aren’t any left
i haven’t used
hyperbole grows tired in the wrinkles of my brain
settles down and dies and i am
from my perch up in the atmosphere
the dark makes black feel just like sunlight

tiny specks are flowers, people, trees
others say we look like ants-
we don’t.

we look like simple atoms, once-celled organisms
blind and stupid
reproducing without thinking
breeding, separating skin from skinless
torn in two evolving
-not so much-
into something quite

that burns itself on stars
and sews its mouth shut in the
shyest hours
of the day.

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