Star shine Aeroplanes.

So, you want me to make you see stars?

Well, every star I thought I saw turned out to be an airplane: he says.


It’s the way you whisper: he says.

It’s the way you listen: I whisper.

I anneal you in my flame of mercy, matchstick boy man.

A merciful burning.

Of transformation.

Howling comes at a steep cost in the currency of my benevolence.

Merciless and pleasing.

Gravity such as this eats me whole

Specks float in my vision lay-line

throughout these speculation, induction blues.

Blurs the crispness

Howl glad I am to smell this cold air

and, feel it taste my nostrils.


Like foals, frisky, on a winter morning.

Catching a chill without getting cold.

A light blinks next door,

Like the last time a wanton man winked at me.

To shrug it off or shake it out, baby?

Of course, Ariadne howls feral heat at her latest revelation.

Ventilator, I am?: she asks, but really says.

I cannot be the first and I know I shalt not be the last.

I say I am not special and you say this makes me special

And I wonder: how much is mocking and how much is kindly.

And I ask you: distinguish for me the difference between illusion and delusion?

Author: writtencasey

I am fascinated by the scientific endeavor and I read about or engage with those processes as much as possible. I am a compulsive reader and writer. With a background in anthropology and as an arm-chair/backyard scientist, I hope to improve my writing skills and learn about any areas of weakness or misunderstanding in my analytic skills. I am excited to share. Thank you for spending time here. Please reach out if you are so inclined. I'd be excited to hear from you.

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