The existence on rolling chairs, it lacks the human, so at dusk I run my carcass up the suburban hill. Face off against the dark. Antares and a plane. The plane goes on, Antares can’t, it’s stuck in the atmosphere quivering and changing color, if it could only hold still.
Großer Bär, komm herab zottige Nacht,
Wolkenpelztier mit den alten Augen,
Sternenaugen....
Fürchtet euch oder fürchtet euch nicht!
And Scorpio up there means that the sun is passing into Leo and I’ll notch up another year soon. Look at the star, look at the star, look at the star, why can’t I ever go home.
so, is home Antares or Scorpio?
I mean, they’re the same by synecdoche. But clearly one way to preempt Henry Adams’s complaint of living in the wrong century is to complain of living in the wrong solar system.
ahhhhhhhhhh! I get it!
