1

Another space arrives. The newborn cries.
And the destiny determined:
Oven or matchstick.

Descendant of both; inheritor of another:
A machine that dreams itself into being,
Dragging its sleeping subjects after it.

Sustenance of nightmares, the food of what
God is, blood the earth pumps forth.
The plastic legacy is siphoned off,

Its artifacts cheap jewellery:
Enamel glinting white and turquoise.
Flimsy chains that never last,

And yet last forever, the paint flaking off.
So too does the rust on this delicate orchid.
It is an oracle of poisons.


2

The city burns in its incandescence.
The indelible halo
Of a lime-green candelabra

Makes light of midnight. Our slumber is
Punctured by gunshots and the drone of the
Ambulance.

Not a foot but a juggernaut,
Pandora’s box,
Sowing the seeds of your distress.

Fallout marks the potent epoch.
The neon octopus spews it back,
Invisible print on the murderous air.

Where water drinks
No diving bell can bear
The pressure of such fuchsia.

of picking cotton almost
or fruit from trees
you ***** a finger
bruise a knee
the children now
so brought up
without need
think a lack
of wireless is the end of the world
but
I see young men
strong going to war for our country
like my generation
and those before me did
so I hold out hope
that not all this new
generation is blind
and all about greed
some
are
truly like my and mine before
see
beyond this horizon

the closest friends the
lovers in spring
when summer comes
or fall or winter
grow apart and make
new limbs new routes
new lives new things
it is part of life
that the fruits
get scattered far and wide
like love does and friends and
acquaintances
become lost to touch
but not
remembrance

I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much  of anything;
not even the many
times  I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
alone.