The Constantly Revolving Stars

And they finally find themselves so they
Say that they are here:
And Alma is probably making love with another man
Tonight in a house filled with children and
Good, good applesauce:
And my words aren’t even an orchard, and are not
Far a field from the vermilion forts with their
Green, green cannons;
And they can easily be trampled upon by tourisms,
And thus forgotten:
And Mickey Mouse- but anyways, in the long run
It feels good to be alone,
Because that is the greatest way of things, for even though
They are all lined up together in similar names,
The graveyards know no revolutions,
While the cars pummel what they cannot possibly expect
To control,
The clouds finally slipping away, dispersing their illusions
Leaving only the constantly revolving stars
So happy to be where they are, fuel for wishes to which they
Will long be dead before receiving.