Pegasus

I drew a pegasus on my wall.  Crude, but I rarely draw anything. And, in my defense, Sharpie on a bumpy wall is not a common medium.

A pegaus pushing at the vacuum,
Hooves hastening the light-years;
Winging through the endless darkrooms,
White negatives and developed fear
Stamp the void and smash the tomb,
And the roaring ghost of god appears.

His spectral hands grip the starry mane,
Hollow voice unfilled by humanity,
I, a neuron, lightning-crackle in a brain,
Forking the sky for the heart that feeds.
Pluck like bass strings the starry veins
That carry their starry blood to me.

I watch the pegasus encircling search
While I am pulled just behind,
With his every step my insides lurch,
For him and I are twins conjoined.
Our sibling stars shine in mirth
And theorize what ghosts we’ll find
When every ghost is mine.