Dead stars are twinkling from the crowded void
Like forgotten Christmas lights in July
Serpentine and misrepresented
They offer no promises
to the watchers of the midnight skies

Dead stars are singing from the distant shores
for casual listeners who can only focus upon the
clutter of the world
obscuring the suttle notes and their
nose for nuance

Dead stars are sleeping
Dreaming in supernova vision
while well healed tourists
assemble postcards and mail them to
no one in particular
Complaining about the food
and the air conditionong

Their are no pictures of dead stars upon her mantle
Just gap toothed grand kids, dead relatives and her cat
who rarely looks at the stars at all