• with a little piece of god in my hand
    i make the stars glow a little longer
    i'll wait until she wakes to put them out
    there are some beauties that can't be missed
    the pictures i've drawn in the sky being one of them

    astronomers call this science
    scientists call this art
    art calls it love
    love calls us art

    i started it a while ago
    painting a boy of about fifteen
    on a world of about twenty good people
    and about a billion others
    that circles the sun
    that circles the center
    that circles the outer
    she put herself in the middle of
    well, who knows what
    faces and words and lyric
    and other people who have helped guide her hand


    he called from his canvas to her
    she, living on a boundless sheet
    left to right stretching for miles
    up and down from infinite to infinite
    he looked from his city upon a hill
    to her universe in black and white
    she looked like something special
    expertly crafted with only a few
    minor flaws to remind the world
    she's human too

    his voice felt weak
    she being surrounded by a
    plethora of waiting bodies
    but none delved into her soul
    and for this, she lamented
    he called her and he said very plainly
    "there aren't a lot of people here
    and that's how i like it and
    i know you live the fast life over there

    but if you just spent a day here
    and let my soul catch yours
    you'll never leave again
    and you'll never mind that i stole you
    to begin with; what do you think?"
    her eyes looked on forever
    and turned and looked on forever again

    and she came off of her world and
    he came off of his
    she took a breath
    and he hoped he could take it away
    and he painted her in his favorite colors
    and she fit them nicely, and added
    her own lights and darks from a
    black and white perception
    and he shone a little brighter
    and turned her gray into silver

    and she turned his yellow fear
    into gold
    like a lion but without the ferocity
    maybe a feeling of passion in their radiance

    but soon they became too great
    for either of their planes
    the twenty good people
    became twenty envious
    the organized chaos organized
    against their oneness
    unable to be scrambled into a modernist view

    they looked every way
    and then she looked up
    and he looked with her
    and they looked into each other
    and nodded slightly

    and there they sit
    in dots and shines
    glowing against the world's ink
    astronomers call them science
    science calls them art
    art calls them love
    love calls them us
    and we call them i

    bodies can separate but the soul thinks otherwise.