Paper Moon

Poetry

 

Dystoia 2

 

My paper moon moves with me

Continuum connection

Matching my speed

With interstellar accuracy

 

Citrus streetlights pass

Warped wobble glow gas

Fuelled by extinctions

In the distant past

 

It seems to me

Distance is deceiving

Objects further away may appear larger here

 

There it is:

That ache

in the hole

that holds

my soul

 

As I see a small person

Perched on a knee

And I try to imagine

A smaller version of me

 

But as I scramble through my bag

Through tobacco sand

Handout promises

Plastic lunches

Ink dreams

Ripped seams

I know then

my legs couldn’t bear

The weight of a life

Other than mine

 

But I’ll always have my paper moon

It’s Somme solemn face

Battle battered

Crinkles and creases

Never ceases

To stay by my side

A hankerchief reminder

Silken lace white

Of a souls delight

In remembering the dream it had

 

Last life

 

How, you might ask, does one

Revel in mammals joy?

That rolling in grass feeling

Basking in the sunlight

Of tasks ignored

 

When the human cult

Catapults

A child’s soul

Through the rigmarole

Of a topsy turbo turvy twisted

Whirling dervish

A life of service

At the toes

Of wrong gods

 

The odds

are against us

 

And yet

 

The Universe pays no mind

It chuckle trickles entropic sand

Through quantum hourglass

Particles entwined

Reality collapse

 

Relax

Wax

Paper

Moon

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Inertia Universe

Poetry

Inertia Universe

Describing itself

In jetsam denim jeans

Dayglo drainpipe cityscapes

Pin ink skin stains

We, rhesus beasts

Drawn towards vanilla destruction

Through

Gloss targeted fashion ads

Target fascination

When people jump from planes

So absorbed in concentric crimson rings

They forget to pull the parachute string

Consider the candle flame

Conical frame

Habitual gas release

We are

Crackling carbon patterns

Yawning

Our bodies

Forming

Molecular songs

We climbed out of genetic ponds

Into conscious oceans

Our history built on skeletal reefs

Shipwrecked ideas

Once carrying the precious cargo

Of currant thought

Now

Barnacled blue dust

Sunk

Anchor iron paradigms

That will

Inevitably

Rust

Earth may be flat

The Moon, a ship

Lizards in charge

Blue blood whip

To know thyself is sum total relief

Everything else

Is just

Belief