Looking at gas giants
Panting.
He once glanced directly into
The sun, just for a moment
So the sunspots that besotted him
Could be imprinted in the black
When he closed his eyes
Allowing him to entwine the claws
Of his imagination around them.
Voyeur Astronomer.
howling in glee as
Meaty whores streak across the sky
The lens fogs up at thoughts of being
Whipped by a comets glowing tail.
He’s chewing on beef sandwiches
Delivered by the night maid
Who ran away before he could
Grab and ravish her
All washed down with beer
A smoke and a tumult
of coughing and cursing.
Some people find integrity in poverty
Or justification for sleeping
through grand nights like this
crowned with ceaseless eternity,
instead preferring to work through
Grey or blue distractions
But with the warm pockets of wealth
And insanity to plunge cold hands into
Sir Geoffrey stands with an eye
glued to the glass, his retina sucking in the
weary photons from long dead stars
which have travelled through the depths
at unrelenting speed to strike a chemical spark
into electricity interpreted by a brain
that yearns to dissipate itself
into the pure exquisite pointlessness
that true freedom brings.
