Star Map

Recess is empty,

if it is empty,

nothing like a blackhole,

can it be weighed?

zero chance maybe,

qualified by its dark palate,

quantified through its bitter tastes,

a galaxy’s scathing remembrance,

its art,

abstract and celestial,

while verbose in geometry,

with sleepy eyes,

the astronomer appreciates,

a star map,

one made of constellations,

computations mapped,

an addled mind,

insomnia invested,

a star trek,

in kind.

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