send us a star's corner, come on

send us a star's corner, come on:
something the thinkers can ride,
a rock that rivets the blanket
out in the great big and wide

as long as they're talking, there's reason;
when they're silenced, when the paper has dried,

then we're stoppable, spacewardly floating,
and why--? When
there isn't a question among 'em
that a fold in the night sky can hide.

There is a breaking point,

There is a breaking point,
at which things come
a
part.

Never full, not quite as high
and less than richly based;
we've been
effaced.

All things graffiti'd may be covered by
white fix
or they may be given prominence--
in the park, their own intentional place.