Stars in The Sock Drawer

A galaxy is growing in my bin,

Whilst comets crash into the Chinese rug,

A blackhole bobs beside the biscuit tin,

And minute moons rotate around a mug.

The white dwarf in the fridge could curdle cream,

Spacetime inside the dryer steals some socks,

A wormhole warps the washing; starts to steam,

As pulsars tick off time like cuckoo clocks.

A silky milkyway sleeps in my sink,

And teacup constellations mesmerise,

My biro bursts with interstellar ink,

Whilst small suns burn the bedding as they rise.

As asteroids smash seaside souvenirs:

Grand music plays in quaint domestic spheres.


◄ How To Be Better

Blastema ►


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