Geometric onion dome girl has a resentment against stars.
Everything must be rooved--taxis, coffins, bus kiosks, and especially churches
because every little light can't be a christ.
Geometric onion dome girl got a paper cut from a phone book
while trying to give blood to the past to revive it.
The operator denounced her,
just for old time's sake,
and quoted maxims instead of backing up her soul
with a more modern device.
Architects don't care about onion domes anymore,
and geometry is all angles and curves.
Revolutions never happen in the rain.
Tea is weak and poetry no longer burns.
Stars don't even light cigarettes,
and so the savior of circumferences plots a mid-point
shooting herself into space like old light in transit.
for the Sunday Muse #8