Everyone Looks Up

The thick scent of incense overtakes and ages
Me in seconds like a time machine to
Constantine, or a pair of size 11 shoes to
A new born child.

And as I look up on these artificial stars,
The man made constellations try to
Convince me of their prophecy for the
Future that is already unfolding.

Most of those around me wear glasses
That hide the spectacle, like the beauty
Of a new fallen snow making a mountain
Out of a dug up mound.

Where they see sparkle I see mournful eyes,
Who paid for names and made up games
And smiled through the pain of a mother
Kissing their skinned up knees.

While men with celebrity dreams move
Furniture for fun and make small
Holes in boxes with their ever-watchful
Eyes that wander to your thighs.

So when everyone looks up,
Someone must look down.