The stars fall down to earth like angels with dusty
halos atop their heads, singed wings and chimney soot,
even fallen angels know better than approach
stars no longer atop their pedestals like gods
the statues of artists emulate in marble,
artists know of the stars but know better than reach
right up into the sky to pluck one out of night,
stars prefer the darkness and artists need the light
for their work to shine forth from their soul to canvas,
as painters rarely see well enough in the dark,
left to stumble around in their huge studios,
loft spaces in New York City or in London,
damaged souls know nothing of such largesse, we live
on our own or with help from a loved one who cares
what it means when the chips are down unlike the stars
no one can touch until they fall through atmosphere
to a level playing field like our own, we live
on earth like tramps on trains, unwelcome, unshaven,
even uninvited, unintelligible
as we mumble spoken words like poets on stage,
relatively aware of relativity,
that gravity causes ourselves to gravitate
however weak or strong our bond to each other,
language, our only tie, otherwise, it's just sex,
infatuation leads nowhere, the bond must stop
keeping us apart, kiss as cousins or lovers,
even friends enjoy love, the benefits of hugs,
angelic, platonic, call it what you want, kiss
no one else but me, fool that I am, a jester
guaranteed nothing by no one except the king,
even the queen may use my talents, my sharp wit
like a sword from its sheath, the game is politics,
sexual politics as advanced lovemaking,
descended from the stars fallen to earth, we seem
unintelligible to the dusty halos,
still we continue, strive in the darkness for light,
to live, to love, to dream, we lift each other up,
yes, back into the sky, where stars like us belong.
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