Canon ballin’, planets at the high school dance

Mars shot the canon, BAM! Star guts and chunks
Flew across the solar system and out into a load of
Space without any gravity, just invisible energy juggling
Everything into place with 2 or 3 hands, party confetti!
The moon pops up from under the blanket of hash clouds and howls
For better hair days and for Neptune to pull down her shirt to reveal
Her busts, covered in the glitter and dust she rolled around in
At a pop concert a few billion years earlier, Jupiter will steal a few
Kisses and ask Saturn for a ring to put on it, as Pluto sits in the bleachers
Waiting for a chance to dance with Mercury, her moves on fire

Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

Rehab with planets and star pills

Highly medicated, the astronaut begins trippin’
Through the asteriod belt, nothing but spilled pills
Rolling toward the edge of cotton balls strung out
Into a milky way, huffing on the clouds
God puffs his cheeks out and whistles out loud
To a Wiz Khalifa song while
Poking a hole into the universe, it spins around the room
Like a balloon losing air, out of control and drunk
Unaware of gravity as it heavily thunked against the floor
Of a blackhole’s closet, heaven pulled itself up the staircase on all fours
Do planets get pissed off with their heads constantly spinning
Do they ever say “Nope, not anymore” and stop whatever
They are doing to quickly grab a pill or five
Before they explode, vanish, or collapse in on themselves
After a few billion years of smoking and burning up their lives
Or do they just lounge in their smokey rooms, giggling
As they wiggle in their orbits around other suns

Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

I might be

I sometimes receive unusual glances
when I illustrate the images
I see in my mind when I exercise and
work out my favorite words
In a block of text, everything is a
picture, everything is an emotion,
A shape, a whirlwind and mixture of
lovely potions to magically
Seduce my intellect and nurture my

When they look at words, they are just
inked black things they practiced
on other inked black dotted lines,
curves, circles, lines, squiggles
They have to wiggle onto paper with
crayons, pencils, or pens
But for me, before the tip of my pencil
hits the paper to carve out a word —
Images of landscapes, vivid
movements, saturations, architecture,
seasons, outlines of animalistic
features, shadows that grow in
emerge and flood my inner eyes, my
words are condensed visions
of a shifting, unending film of plots
and subplots and stories coursing
And spinning around in my mind

What if words are our universe, a code asking us to reflect back on time
By conjuring up things of everything that were once real or are real, depending on
the way you think of it, process it, and acknowledge it as everpresent and there
Hidden behind words like shadows, just right over there, and all we had to do
Was learn how to unspin that code, those riddle and rhymes, to unlock
Other universes and places in time

Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.