Up On Rockets

On a rocket ship in a far of place
ln a galaxy, twinkling constellations
Illuminated a finite outer space.
He says, “Quickly, pace
Yourself with hurried steps, now
Enter, immerse thyself in frigid
Waters, erst I wilt not be there
Up on the edge.
Let us give fate a test,
Whereupon thy resurfacing,
An embrace, touch upon flesh,
Awaits thee, as thou hast seen
Upon thine own discovery.”

She says, “’Twas but a painful venture,
A comeuppance full of fitful unpleasantries.”

He thereupon leaves, on a pod
Despite her pleas, into the vapors
Of Mercurial X, joining floating debris.


Their Offering

Sturdy men in space suits
Too far into labyrinthine spaces
Listening to reverberating cues
That were, perhaps, in cahoots
With strangers being others
Building passageways, altering routes,
Forging doubtful minds, lost and grasping,
Gasping at misdirected gravellings
Where paths taken prior dissipated and changed.
Leaving attested fates to the unknown
Tasks in what they could author.

Any More Good

Crafted pinwheels of patterned papers
Whirl slowly by the dawning of sunsets
While the winds are a gently yawning
Bidding weavers weaving loose blankets
To count their knotted silvered threads.

Learning what was worthwhile while
Tending to a craftsmanship just to adjust
The visual aspects of what wasn’t any more
Good in any way then what they’d had
Before they could speak of the significance.

Was Well

Cemented bricks in walls shift and spin
Above concrete grounds, where they
Ground, sending particles adrift,
Closing in boundless
Areas, leaving an opening that was slim,
Which it peered through, unable to see or
Hear the far off buzzing from within.

Turning its ear towards the slit,
It heard its partner, “I’ll be
Gone soon, don’t have a fit.”

Well, it only thought it did

While its partner could not
Distinguish if it existed.

Luminary Stick Homes

“A tragedy, perhaps we could deign, or hope, to call it that,
Could be the awareness in solidarity; ‘I am the sole proprietor,
And/or creator, of concept x.’, ‘I, alone, am at fault/blameless
In this scenario.’, ‘If only I had done y instead of z.’,
A concentration on ones capabilities, or lack thereof,
And/or et cetera: a laziness or ineptitude,
In the desireless search for every perceivable universe,
When the exploration of ideas built by prime movers
Offers its visions, we mindlessly pour out our sorries;
Nuanced words, as though it is a resolution to our brokenness
Without reasoned questions, plans and application,
Within an unmeasured moment or moments,
Or, possibly, in the span of their disappointing life,
Only without ever having known
Even toothpicks can build a luminary home.”

“Yeah, but I’m still sorry.”

Since She Left

Readily, he stood before a tree of massivity,
Where hundreds of faceted crystal
Fruits in bunches, aptly hung from
Branching limbs, sparkling,
Glimmering, glistening, reflecting
Silvers unto each other, into one another,
Transparently, in every hue of every
Colour in the visible spectrum,
He stood there in awe at the array,
Dancing, in a daze, searching,
Pressurised explosions, shattering,
Splintered shards shooting towards
Him, miraculously barely
Missing his eyes,
When he’d gone
Searching for her.