Too many to know
to count or even behold
filling to the brim
the fields of my vision
The firmament a mere
fraction of a canvas
that goes on and on and on
without arriving
Nor my sky
Not my star
Even if I was born under one
or one too many
Would it have any consequence
on what I choose for lunch or when?
The trifle-st of calls
the trivial-est of decisions
I not let the biggest of them stars
decide for me
And yet when things turn unearthly,
spiral down anti-skyward,
I point my finger
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