Life in Planets

I grew up with

planets you could feed

into cars like slot machines

trees that exhaled

the kinds of things you need

At home I had

my little radio:

planets inside,

spinning spinning,

hanging invisible stars

in my empty space

the record player

moves my plastic around,

spinning spinning,

each ring tracing

an orbit another

engagement for Saturn

So I cry over circles,

yeah spinning spinning,

circling me in my own

isolation. And when

I look at the sun

it doesn’t seem all

that special anymore.

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