“Saturn,” “One” and “Cemetery Walled”

“Saturn,” “One” and “Cemetery Walled”


As another moonlight saunters

on inlets,

let's agree Saturn can set:

the moons will use its rings as a table,

and as euphoric as their blurry mind

can be like

MDMA intoxication.

Jupiter; he been watching,

he'd been lurching like the lurch of

ominous wings with no shadow

they say it is all but a mythos. But it's also ether,

or whatever

most culture vultures: lowly dictate various ways to

autoerotic asphyxiate


The secret garden locks

hidden hummingbirds scoff

A topography withered

for even my ossuary-sun

coded in winter grey

cold is the opposite of órale

it is an overlay,

Jack Frost is an odyssey



  even as we're wincing at

lack of lush seedling

there was once heavenly season;

in our adobe castle—

  In these last few ragged-years

how we going to accept there was never, once,

an abode of obtrusive-actions against insurrections and purge...

The funding of time

watch as it washes out and up

ungrown, from growth

a messy mess slipping from science,

  Robots to mimes

Cemetery Walled

Alit shame that all I know—

can never haunt me at last—

shall I swallow slow, howling winds

and petrified like sedimentary

rolling hills? shalt it burn

like habanero when we we're kids

rudimentary in my kinship's eye?

then Mr. Welch provided milk

seems a little ironic now,

how it wasn't grape

he really was mama's best friend—

then he propositioned her

or at least she told me on, some summery day,

she, had the world in the palm of her hand—

and quickly, he'd die old;

quickly she died young

About the Author

Justin-Paul Starlin


Justin-Paul Starlin is a poet/writer from Southern California; he has been passionate about writing for the last decade, and his work has been published in Havik Journal 2020, Strange Horizons and in Wingless Dreamer.