Microcosmos

The planet was born spinning

Never planning to make its move

In space there’s no clockwise

No risk of being misunderstood

Some planets move left handed

Ours is empty handed asking for more

From god’s hangnail moon hanging next door

Cat scratching on the sky and what for

Some of those microcosmos

The planet was born in the backyard

No gender reveal, but plenty of blue

In time, there’s no more time

No risk of being caught behind

Black hole blues about the way it goes

The planet asks for another song

From god’s hang-ten stars surfing along

Cat scratching at the black so long

For some of those microcosmos

And if I were bound in a nutshell of infinite space

That’s where we crackle in good grace and see face to face

We cut our context into pieces we can swallow

But something that melts was never hollow

But full of microcosmos