The Night Before the Eclipse

Look at this poppy-seed bread: Black stars in a white sky, Outside, an aloe plant rustles in the wind, As out of place as dead people whispering. I am not planning to die, however Will they write my autobiography, Listening to Fall Out Boy's 'Centuries' Remember me... For small recollections Of a day-time moon, This hot-cross bun blazoned across a handful Of wayward seasons. And I am not making any promises, But this side of having a cold, far out stars Are inextinguishable.