typographical errors

i noticed flies’ absence the most

between sunset and dark

it was as if gods watched

over me as i read beyond seeing

into squinting, nodding, and the cacophony

on slumber’s doorstep

i hooked my dreams to shooting stars

and understood by saturn’s rings

that flies have tastier victims

than drowsy readers

a man dreaming

at the tails of meteors

really can’t say much about

flies, books, stars, or sunsets

but he knows the relevance of flight

in endless spaces between words on a page