When I heard the cosmic queue for stardust allocations had opened,
It was an itch I couldn’t scratch with comet tails.
Galactic offices, shaken by inefficiency, declared starlight a taxable entity,
And in Section 42B, paragraph 17, subclause iii of the Zodiac Accord:
"All twinkling shall henceforth twinkle on a thirteen moon calendar."

They promised us solstice new releases, adrift in black hole misfiles.
Sirius bureaucracy ensued, and there we were, citizens of the cosmos,
Nervously clutching our orbital ID badges, waiting for minimalist bursts
Of supernova bureaucracy salvation. 

Do the stars have forms to fill? A question I dared not ask before shear cosmic intervention.
  
Perhaps one day the sun will rise on Section 9 amendments to star birth rights.
Looming eclipses, overshining shadows, emerging in slow cosmic overexposure.

Forever waiting in the nebula of endless registration,
A void not far from home in familiar alien narratives.
        

If you like your darkness slightly less dark and peppered with irony, explore pure celestial disharmony.

Dare to compute the Starlight Tax.