(no subject)

I know that out my door the streets are cold,
That where they end it's like no streets could be.
I know that planet Earth is getting old
Just slower than it's getting rid of me.

I know that it's a ball the sun forgot
That it was juggling once; and that the sun
Is just a shred of floating shirt that caught
Its flame from off the burning back it's from.

I know that any light is heading out,
The feet of other lights its only footing -
Lights soon (though whirling brightly here about)
Cream-graces mixed away in endless pudding.

I don't know how you'd think we matter much;
But I don't know I don't know when we touch.