The whir of the projector
demands belief - in the
shadows against the sheets;
as our breaths shiver,
akin to drum skins
belying civil sin.
As we blow smoke
into the light - igniting
our own auroras
creating "starry nights"
on dustlight - becoming
fog in the moonless night.
searching for sanctity
within the degradation;
for in the midst of entropy
we'll build cages from our fires
trapping our embers
by the milky ways grace;
surrending our essence
for the chaos to embrace.