by Ben Passikoff

Work it out.
Suns ray and rot
on matter and anti, hellhot and zero.
Paranoid parallels kiss and part all over;
strange geometries decree distance,
coffin symmetries, car exhaust
and blood direction. Libraries holy-hold
this info. Add birds, and life is almost
worth the spin. Just to watch
the odds accumulate on green tables
in Atlantic City, or in heaven-hell ratio.
We are warped inside the swing
of two enormous seconds hugely clocked
(replaceably batteried) in some dimension
carelessly added on ache of impulse.

Copyright © 2004, Ben Passikoff
Solar Flare

Solar flare
captured in the extreme ultraviolet

Ben Passikoff is a retired engineer. His poems have appeared in The Quarterly Review of Literature, the Atlanta, Harvard, Sarah Lawrence and Texas Reviews, Literal Latte, Orbis, Pedestal Magazine and a truckload of other journals. His pursuits are poetry and survival.

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Image courtesy of SOHO (ESA & NASA)