Nothing but Blue Skies. Sounds like a plan.

Poem #19

Second verse? Same as the first…

I was in a pub, post gig earlier this year, and a fellow poet remarked at how elliptical my work can be, that is, it does have a habit of returning to where it begins with more regularity than most. This is a very fair observation. It’s the balance of the Universe, continually calling to a fractured mind.

Here we have a poem that was written at the beginning of 2022, for a specific Science Fiction magazine subscription. As it’s here, you know it failed there. I’m rather glad it did now, because this means that it gets to be far more significant in my personal chronology.

I fucking LOVE the idea of black holes, of the way we have no clue whatsoever of what is really going on with how they work. Until we do, my opinion on repetition can remain completely and gloriously unchallenged. Time is a flat circle, people…

No, really. The theory has merit.

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