astronomy as a business plan

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When he opens his mouth
I see stars,
and not beautiful celestial bodies,
dazzlingly hot and mysterious
and real –
but star-forms on the ceiling
of a tempestuous boy’s room,
cheap glow-in-the-dark plastic
softly luminescent,
daring you blink, there
a twinkle! a reprieve
from daylight’s burdens.
This boy dreams
not of telescopes and the
milky way, instead
he concocts
a plan to gild them
dazzling! rich! gold!
and auction to
the highest bidder.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Reprieve

adrift

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when one considers the word
adrift,
what comes to mind?
a raft lost on open waters
undulating and salt-sick,
the gentle unmooring of
a lonely soul,
searching for scraps of
hope – a compass needle,
a tattered map,
whispered voices
begging for nightfall,
thank polaris!
we shout, assuming above all
that anyone presumed lost
begs to be found

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Adrift

imposter syndrome

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my thoughts are lies.
there, i said it –
confidence is
but a farce,
that honest calm expected
of my age and gender
supplanted by
twitchy-skinned
anxiety.
i can’t believe
my CV, although earned
(and lived) and
the word deserve is
blood on my lip. what
to do?
walking within these
doubtful bones
and brains
a human,
whole
to those outside
but faulty parts to
me. my thoughts are lies,
i know but do not
believe.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Farce

who really likes meetings?

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last week, last year
or yesterday, this thing
we call work and all of
the related paraphernalia
is invariably subject to meetings,
those often hellish groupings
of similarly focused folks
(some more passionate ’bout The Cause
than others)
where some talk
and fewer listen
about synergistic paradigms
closing loops through
leveraged collaboration
of core competencies
the only result being
assurance of future meetings
ad nauseam,
in perpetuity

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Collaboration

too much information

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I remember
in fond retrospection,
when feeling panicked was
a rare occurence,
the clamor of a telephone cutting
through wee hours of slumber, the gut
punch of “we need to talk”-
We want too much,
know too much, now
media-driven adrenaline spikes
are the norm, and I ache
for quiet (or perhaps ignorance),
longing to trade information
for peace,
at least for a little while

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Panicked

a house of none

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You were a walking nightmare
hollow skin a magnificent shell,
blonde hair ablaze, all
beauty and fury and there was
nothing, nothing we could do
to save you
That is not to say
we did not try, oh sister –
you were plied with love,
slathered with hope, but
darkness was a veil that none
but you could see
I can still hear you laugh,
see your eyes widen, joy above anguish
for a moment, denying the
finality of lead projectiles,
your last gorgeous
letters left for ash

by Melissa Kro.

for DF, lost to suicide 13 years ago

via Daily Prompt: None

baptism of neuroses

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I can control many habits, be it
picking cuticles or hems,
lifting the fork
too many times, speaking
when you are not
finished.
I can control some thoughts, I think
whilst obsessing over
forgotten exchanges,
shapeless words
amongst strangers
or friends.
Control is essential
and once relinquished
the tide of fear swells,
threatens,
crashes
and yet, flawed and fragile
I still exist
amongst the waves, afloat and
unafraid.

by Melissa Kro.

via Daily Prompt: Control