So. I. Do. This.

You don’t have to be lonely.
I am right here waiting to light up your eyes.
I am a dying sun and you are right,
I am the realest danger around,
but I had to become this white dwarf to learn – men
would/will study my ways. So I do, this.

I clone my moons.
Until no one can withstand the multiplicity
and now being cloaked with radiation;
scorched from self-annihilation
(scars=stoicism). So I, do this.

A more tantalizing outcome
for planets without rings. I get no
adulation, while the hot as hell mercuric ones
dance in the spotlight. All
near the lovely green and blue
Earth Ball. Thirsty men awaiting.
So, I do this.

Am Uranus. Am Pluto.
The laughing stock and the far-flung.

I am black holes.
The self-implosive tendency so easy
I can do it for breakfast
then eat what’s left-over for lunch and dinner
while still clung tight to your orbit.
So I do this.

Photo Credit: sudansh Flickr via Compfight cc

Elisabeth Horan

Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She writes to survive and survives to write - We are all battling something. Let's support each other. Elisabeth enjoys riding horses and caring for her cats, chickens, goats and children (not necessarily in that order). She teaches at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire.

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