Two Poems

Sillhouette

The sun makes silent
all the small planets
of inner orbits
and we only hear –
when they pass in front;

The stars have planets
which tug the belly
of their nuclear
mass explosion – soft
but more than enough;

In the lower tones,
of the dawn rise – there
the small star, has grace
for one still moment –
in the day soon lost;

The world compels us.
We are charred by void
when its emptiness
eclipses ours – but
soft glow the small stars.

Memory of Florida (Helplessness Blues)

What I used to be, and now
what I am, as we drive down
motorways through forest mass
listening closely with my voice
align like an eclipse moon
and the past blooms in present
rapture – I love this album

Old as I get, I will not
forget the forest drifting
drowsily past the window
this rain sifting tambourine –
And damp strung up on song lines
for this perfect alignment
in time and of void cultus.

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