Sonnet: Star Stuffed
by John Kendall Hawkins
.
There were days I used to live Vangelisly,
Sagan in a star field saying billions
of stars, light years, and I would relishly
contemplate being, while vaudevillians
would stage the Real, pull duckrabbits from hats --
Einstein, Heisenberg, the Marx Brothers --
their italldependsonhowyoulookats
the zany disruptors of Our Fathers
to the little confirmed Catholic boys --
one minute lighting soft vigil candles,
next holding them up to Dylan, making noise,
fighting the Man, handle-stealing vandals.
A bony darkness at the end of time --
the fate of all stars, even if they rhyme.
