A blank space
plated in acrylic veneer, 
dark and green

         Next a bag o’life brimming with Tibetan rocksalt
Peppered across the surface like a fine spice 
Adhesive? Fuck knows. Art is free

Saturn, life-like with Cassini shadows
once heralding in the natural proto-age
of dystopia now closing shop but slowing still
seen from the icy blue and cracked
surface of Mad Europa

and, of course, the stars
like tippexed miracles in a sky
otherwise darker the a broken computer screen..
They light up for billions of miles, often more than
one; clusters careening, cannibalising their kin
Planets as a septagon of minotaurs 
Eternally hunting  their own in a maze built for 
The extinction of the self

You see, I can’t draw for shit 
But you get the picture