Ten thousand light years from Orion’s Arm,
my eye is naked and
distinguished. Your small satellite orbits
my dark regions with aim.
I am uninhabitable with my gas,
and dust, and hot stars
spiraling in mass distribution.
Call me Sagittarius A….
and I will call you instable,
with your fictional planets
swaying with indefinite motion,
your thick Dwarf Elliptical
cancels out my Galaxy
over and
over again.
A filthy witch lived inside me when
I spent too much time
growing.
She eliminated the healthy bugs
that sewed my insides nicely,
that watered my battle
and push forward flowers.
I wanted to learn how to fish
with a stick. I wanted
to pick protein out
of fish scales, but
the witch said
she had an allergy. She took my stick
and hid it.
I miss my bugs. The healthy ones.
They helped me stay clean.
I cannot breathe
properly
on my own.
I grew with the witch for years,
while she sang
death march hymns. I learned the
words
and ate them, instead of the fish.
When it came time for gutting and
cleaning, I painted
my own limbs with scales
and
fished with knife sticks for protein.
I spent too much time growing
with this rapacious
witch. Her sharp teeth chewed
my affections to analgesic cream
that spread throughout me, burying
everything but
the enchantress and her
music.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 