Nathaniel T. Hughes

We never should've hung pictures up like stars of hope on lonely closet doors like two galaxies spinning around farther and farther out forever lost in the disjointed space we've become

My mind is strapped in a spiderwebbed straight jacket spun cunningly by the night sky’s gossamer factories of vexing thoughts and indecision, like beckoning black holes of space my aura has been etched with the continual failing signs of darkening midnight blue: this, my life, many colliding mistakes; so, like the ever expanding universe, at some point I must stop, let the imposing forces of the implicate order slow me down; shrink and collapse, let my life explode, into another ontological world.

We'll climb up, past these rooftops and listen to the world scream at us from below; we'll go on and on and on, past the haughty highways and meadows turned to gold, above the forested hilltops and sky-high canopy of dreams, crooning with birds: an owl's lulling cry, along with a solemn goodnight, as we forever sleep above the deep safety of the wolves