The cells split, this decay cracked-atom
cannot yet speak.
Is there narrative in bloodstream? Memories of chromosomes
twisted strand is it spread between
the vastness of constellations? They say
that we are the stuff of stars and we
meet anabolic in curve. This augur
under cold and cumbersome;
endless piles of crumpled receipts.
Cigarette wisp curls
Between shaking palms begins a heat.
Drawn to hardwood. Concrete. Dirt.
Place open hand and listen to your heart.
At once a beating, and then—
Stars eating themselves.
The catabolic rage of stardust
mouse-toed and freezing
toward a genesis.