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nothing but a zodiac of the mind's phantasms

it seems like nothing ever was - nothing ever
is; what we would like everything to be is absent
not frustration, but a form of spiritual dissonance
or absolute decay
the end is always near, we feel it in our memories
of empty rooms
narrow visions of how far the darkness extends
on a cold late-summer's night.

to reach for the stars' glimmer
in an act of undefinable grace
like setting a slipknot free
ensuring the dissonance that arises
somewhere between how far the stars
and how short your fingers

remains only in your memories
of a room once full -
a need for completion that

seeps to the rest of what you used
to call home.

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