Tim Paggi

LIGHT YEARS

I’m trapped in a telescope.
If you look, then you’ll spy me
in my little sailboat
adrift through guilty stars.
My house is the warehouse
floating by Andromeda.
Meet me by the conveyor belt:
I’ll be the space cowboy
filling Amazon orders,
stuffing boxes with gravestones
covered in ghost glitter.
I am that working stranger,
yet I am light years apart
from that working stranger.

Tim Paggi lives, shaves and dies in Baltimore, MD. His book is made of hexes. Your Smart Phone chews his Tumblr.