Thursday, 2 March 2017

ironic space poem concerning Saturn mostly

I swallow Saturn’s rings,
feel them slide down the throat
parched after too many words.
My hands rub the skin,
especially the apple of Adam,
to help each and every ring
find their new home within.

I know Saturn will not mind,
she never minds my needs, has none of her own,
or if she does, they are needs I cannot fathom -
the thing about planets is their silence,
the way they drift through the void
never needing to draw attention to themselves
yet managing to do just that,

thousands of planets, like eyes, watching,
waiting for the moment
consciousness lets go of the trajectory
and floats also in the void -
apart and a part;
finding solace in space and companionship
in the letting go of words;

and yes
I understand the irony…

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