05-24-2018, 02:40 AM
Europa
of mostly ice, with red
and brown secretions of sulphur-
ic compounds causing streaks
that criss-cross over white.
Beneath the ice, the tidal flex-
ing from its orbit heats the sol-
id crust, thus forming jets
of liquid water, squirting out
to space. Therefore, it’s said
Europa’s oceans are a like-
ly candidate for life.
ing light, we blink to life,
his fingers tracing lacera-
tions on my leg, still red;
his eyes trace thoughts which only through
unsaying can be said.
His gaze and fingers gliding up,
blood pulses through the streaks
of red. My right – his left – arm tens-
es, and we watch the jets
of semen spewing forth.
I feel his arm relax, then flex.
uncertain age deflect-
ed from its path, towards us, this year.
Thus far, the search for life
or artificial origin
has failed. The CalTech Jet
Propulsion Lab say light curve ob-
servations show its redd-
ish hue results from cosmic ray
exposure. “Foreign streak-
ing objects may be much more comm-
on than we thought,” they said.
away from me and said
“I really like you, Graham”, breath-
ing in the white reflect-
ion of the lamplight, blasted from
beneath the bridge in streaks
of water-rippled LED.
The blankness of the life unlived
unfolded blankly as
my blank face blinked. My red
hand, scalded from the cold, felt for-
eign to my arm, its bloodly jets.
voy will set sail (not jet)
towards Proxima Centauri b:
an exoplanet said
to be the closest to our Sun,
found orbiting a red
dwarf star, which dimly flickers, such
that radiative flux
received is similar to Earth’s—
although, the hope for life
is slim, because its sun flares out
fantastic toxic streaks.
lands, brittle, worn, and streaked
with foxing, hid a portrait of
Victoria, inkjet-
blackly staring through the frame,
having lived her life
in landscape for a hundred years.
An urban fox’s head
stands out among the bins. In mount-
ain fields, its ginger flecks
escape my sight, my failing eyes
confusing green and red.
with cuts unknown, unsaid;
its fluids stream in hot, dark jets;
its tight-drawn borders flex,
as coupled bodies flex with life,
its whites, its blues, and reds.
Jupiter System, present day
Europa’s surface is composed of mostly ice, with red
and brown secretions of sulphur-
ic compounds causing streaks
that criss-cross over white.
Beneath the ice, the tidal flex-
ing from its orbit heats the sol-
id crust, thus forming jets
of liquid water, squirting out
to space. Therefore, it’s said
Europa’s oceans are a like-
ly candidate for life.
Ashbourne, 2017
In bed, beneath the sun’s descend-ing light, we blink to life,
his fingers tracing lacera-
tions on my leg, still red;
his eyes trace thoughts which only through
unsaying can be said.
His gaze and fingers gliding up,
blood pulses through the streaks
of red. My right – his left – arm tens-
es, and we watch the jets
of semen spewing forth.
I feel his arm relax, then flex.
‘Oumuamua, 2018
An interstellar body of uncertain age deflect-
ed from its path, towards us, this year.
Thus far, the search for life
or artificial origin
has failed. The CalTech Jet
Propulsion Lab say light curve ob-
servations show its redd-
ish hue results from cosmic ray
exposure. “Foreign streak-
ing objects may be much more comm-
on than we thought,” they said.
Rosie Hackett Bridge, 2014
With sudden urgency, he pulled away from me and said
“I really like you, Graham”, breath-
ing in the white reflect-
ion of the lamplight, blasted from
beneath the bridge in streaks
of water-rippled LED.
The blankness of the life unlived
unfolded blankly as
my blank face blinked. My red
hand, scalded from the cold, felt for-
eign to my arm, its bloodly jets.
Centauri Star System, 2069
In ‘sixty-nine, a robot con-voy will set sail (not jet)
towards Proxima Centauri b:
an exoplanet said
to be the closest to our Sun,
found orbiting a red
dwarf star, which dimly flickers, such
that radiative flux
received is similar to Earth’s—
although, the hope for life
is slim, because its sun flares out
fantastic toxic streaks.
Ballyhupahaun, Co. Laois, early 1900s
An aged print of three West High-lands, brittle, worn, and streaked
with foxing, hid a portrait of
Victoria, inkjet-
blackly staring through the frame,
having lived her life
in landscape for a hundred years.
An urban fox’s head
stands out among the bins. In mount-
ain fields, its ginger flecks
escape my sight, my failing eyes
confusing green and red.
A boundary
My body holds together: streaked with cuts unknown, unsaid;
its fluids stream in hot, dark jets;
its tight-drawn borders flex,
as coupled bodies flex with life,
its whites, its blues, and reds.