Nothing Scares Me More

Immortality is a
ruthless harvester
of data. Just moments
crumbling, into half-hidden
traces of prehistoric bones.

Like the last remaining
virgin pine after a bright
burst of snowfall collapsing.

Nothing scares me more.

Inside the Tent

The world loses
some of its power.

You become an instant.

Before the sizzle of
waking up—assuaged,

and wind scourged. Blithe.
Almost that feeling of being
selected by the elements.

You become infrared.

Burnished into the grease
of cast iron; an untrammeled
frontier, OK with becoming blue
jewels plunged into the mountain.


I am Andromeda.

By the colour of
dampened charcoal,

I wake too early—

years away from
the stillborn borders
never lifted by
a note from heaven.

I am the open road.

A broken dream
simmering in an
imperious haze.

Sound Waves of Absolute Zero

I am human.
Just nuclei colliding.

I am more alive in
other realms.

I am azure shade
and layered enamel.

I am a magnetic force,
and a symbol, too.

I am the sound waves of
absolute zero:

Both cosmic and personal,
I am guessing that I am like you.

Does it haunt your good moments

Those brief, jittery snuffles of anxiety
clinging to the edge of a black hole.

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image: George Payne