Canon ballin’, planets at the high school dance

Mars shot the canon, BAM! Star guts and chunks
Flew across the solar system and out into a load of
Space without any gravity, just invisible energy juggling
Everything into place with 2 or 3 hands, party confetti!
The moon pops up from under the blanket of hash clouds and howls
For better hair days and for Neptune to pull down her shirt to reveal
Her busts, covered in the glitter and dust she rolled around in
At a pop concert a few billion years earlier, Jupiter will steal a few
Kisses and ask Saturn for a ring to put on it, as Pluto sits in the bleachers
Waiting for a chance to dance with Mercury, her moves on fire

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

Ruggedly Handsome

His forehead furrowed with a wrinkle of time
And the stars as freckles shined on his cheeks
His nebulous eyes, shouting out charms into the mist
As he clenched his fists, drenched in the smoke of a
Lightning storm – as we move away, through time,
His form diminishes, folding into the deep outer edges of
Space, where his heartache sleeps

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

Dumplings

Stick ’em in a pot of lava, Jesus said
As he fed the chickens some day-old bread
The stars melted and blew up into a thousand
Slimy pieces of muddy dust and cloudy lead
I’ll just sweep it under the rug, he said
Vacuumed it all up into a blackhole bag
Belly sagging from being overfed
The stardust has seeped into his head

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

Rehab with planets and star pills

Highly medicated, the astronaut begins trippin’
Through the asteriod belt, nothing but spilled pills
Rolling toward the edge of cotton balls strung out
Into a milky way, huffing on the clouds
God puffs his cheeks out and whistles out loud
To a Wiz Khalifa song while
Poking a hole into the universe, it spins around the room
Like a balloon losing air, out of control and drunk
Unaware of gravity as it heavily thunked against the floor
Of a blackhole’s closet, heaven pulled itself up the staircase on all fours
Do planets get pissed off with their heads constantly spinning
Do they ever say “Nope, not anymore” and stop whatever
They are doing to quickly grab a pill or five
Before they explode, vanish, or collapse in on themselves
After a few billion years of smoking and burning up their lives
Or do they just lounge in their smokey rooms, giggling
As they wiggle in their orbits around other suns

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

I might be

I sometimes receive unusual glances
when I illustrate the images
I see in my mind when I exercise and
work out my favorite words
In a block of text, everything is a
picture, everything is an emotion,
A shape, a whirlwind and mixture of
lovely potions to magically
Seduce my intellect and nurture my
imagination,

When they look at words, they are just
inked black things they practiced
on other inked black dotted lines,
curves, circles, lines, squiggles
They have to wiggle onto paper with
crayons, pencils, or pens
But for me, before the tip of my pencil
hits the paper to carve out a word —
Images of landscapes, vivid
movements, saturations, architecture,
seasons, outlines of animalistic
features, shadows that grow in
sunlight,
emerge and flood my inner eyes, my
words are condensed visions
of a shifting, unending film of plots
and subplots and stories coursing
And spinning around in my mind

What if words are our universe, a code asking us to reflect back on time
By conjuring up things of everything that were once real or are real, depending on
the way you think of it, process it, and acknowledge it as everpresent and there
Hidden behind words like shadows, just right over there, and all we had to do
Was learn how to unspin that code, those riddle and rhymes, to unlock
Other universes and places in time

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

BRB, going to the galactic supermarket

I twisted and felt the colors screaming as they bled out
Of the burning cotton and on to the floor
I opened the door, walked out, and hopped into my car
Flipped on the radio, pushed up the volume and dropped
The bass of the music so that my brain could vibrate
Vroom – let’s get out of this place, my neurons ignited and traced the tunes and
Lovely little colors of fire into the face of the sky, sunburned
Let’s rummage around my memory box and reflect on things
I have learned as far back as 16 years ago, about biology
chemistry, physics, math, theatre, and dance
Somehow those scheduled seven classes a day created this chance
For me to drive around in a car, worried about work while
Lazily mumbling hollow, fortune-cookie lyrics in a boring melody
With popstars who distract us from giving a fuck
About astrology and mystical luck constructed
A “while” ago by wizards and unicorns and other things
As they looked at the stars from their tents and maybe
They had cars, too, who really knows
Who said time just walks forward, maybe it is a fungus that grows
Spreading out across a vast sea of some table of elements
That exists in tandem with our own, how do we know
We weren’t grown from that table and thrown into something else
Like a trash bin or one of those super big butcher freezers
To see if we could own up and preserve
Whatever is meant to be our creation and legacy,
in a reserved parking lot of outerspace
In row 6 next to the gardening section of a local cosmic supermarket

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

Welcome to your existential hell

If there is no beginning, there can’t be an end
Can we really justify “time” and define it within
A circle, does a “cycle” truly continue, considering
It’s constricted and confined into a shape our minds
Can imagine, but only within our feeble capacity,
Something we can fabricate to fit into
The wrinkly skin and salty water of our bodies,
This carbon-dating, can we really apply it to things
Outside of the cycle, the circle we know best,
I’ve never seen a person perfectly draw one
Or even five of them, less and less I understand
The shapes we draw to keep our minds from escaping
Leaking out into an organic asymmetrical thing,
Risking to absorb that peculiar, unsettling, spooky energy
So we just push ourselves to master geometry, basics
We can compute with our mind, but not going as far as to
Find things that couldn’t possibly be found when they
Are pretty much impossible to find, detect, they exist where our
Brains fail to perceive and comprehend a lack of existence
It fails to see the pattern of some energy that bleeds through the spaces
Of our sentences, grammar, images, taste, sight, and sound
You have no idea what it is I am talking about,
Neither do I, and is that really okay? To not understand
The shapes beyond our mind? That possibly co-exist
And run through us and hold us suspended in time or firmly rooted to the ground?
What if in fact those very things made us believe in time?
Or better yet, believe in our existence, and everything around ourselves?
Don’t think too hard or too deep, or the spider’s silk will be cut and
You’ll fall, sweating, and confused, into your existential hell

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Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.