Monday, 6 March 2017

Ironic space poem concerning Saturn mostly: (edit 1)

 Because I am able, and hungry as a ship’s waking crew,
I swallow Saturn’s cables, aware of them as they ring
my throat on the inside; I feel like a Kayan woman
but different. My hands rub the throat’s parched skin,
especially the apple of my Adam, help each and every ring
escape the many words spoken, find their home within.

Saturn appears not to mind 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, as they wait 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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