College Hill

Chryste says we are our own planets

inside of a dive bar,

pulling men into our gravitational fields.

but I feel like an astronaut,

invisibly free falling

on the fringes of every celestial body.

I lock eyes with a trail of comets,

ensorcell a protostar,

blush in the presence of a red giant.

in the slow descent,

my beer boils,

forming tiny crystals

that encircle my head.

cosmic rays permanently toxify my body

through string lights and neon signs.

 

I am illumined

or maybe I’m drunk.

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