V.47

Writing the last poem was weird
I got to the line where the dog
was scratched, and I felt a scratch at
the back of my head. A tall girl

scratched the back of my head. Then stopped.
In the café she stood in a
phase which lasted a long second.
Then she realised she didn’t know

me. What an oddly nice event.
She was very embarrassed, ran
across, shouted, oh my god its
the wrong person. I talked to a

guy across from me, said, that was
weird, but nice! and he said, it was!
Later I heard them chatting on
about how she didn’t pay mind

to him. Well, her absent minded
nature bestowed me a gift of
a surreal moment I will dream
the way the fabled soul mate comes

from nothing to slide through the door
of unawareness. It was nice
to meet you, anyway. I sat,
wrote this, and calmed down. Life is strange

Womb

Who creates an artificial womb?
Who spends their time in a room
of polished plastic thinking – fantastic
I’ll first make a womb for a sheep
Then later, for other things
like a car or just oil in a sac

then later still, human wombs can dangle
from skyscrapers
growing the next crop of office workers.
does money do that?
And then automatically flash pictures across
all its wires
so fast that progress happens
And no one has to do
anything

Thinks – first I’ll make a womb for a womb
And then grow wombs from them
Problem solved

but what was the problem again?
Today… what did I do at work..
But someone’s made a womb for a bomb
That’s a little strange
What if it goes off?

***

We can save with a womb
But carefully, oh so carefully
Quietly, sparsely

Don’t get over excited
Womb-born hearts still pump, pump
And bleed nicely

Getting born is just slightly more difficult.
We’ll just straddle the knife edge of getting born
Carefully, carefully
When necessary