my entire
cosmogony
consists
o
f
the
female

body

(writes johnny noir)

And the choir of the feminine galaxies sing hymns of thanks.
in tonal sincerities mixed patched arching over all is a prayer
of thanks for the men who get it, even imperfectly, they reach beyond us, beyond themselves, and they give it all  back.

we are all made of star dust. nothing more, nothing less.
we are made all of red dust, leaving up in the wind
silent as dust will always, frustratingly
be