I hold burning splints, with expectant brain
before my choiceness, sense the open ends of test tubes of gas, my squeaky heart pops
Ends of my brain hold, with expectant splints before the gas tubes, I sense burning squeaky pops of choiceness, test my open heart
--
(Remembering a chemistry experiment with fun wordplay)
Marsquake Ah, plates are scraping against each other. I guess the rock is molten in places. Isn’t the red crust beautiful? Hang on. Mars is shaking, or is that Earth probe bust? Stephen Paul Wren
The germs spun over gleaming theatre floors. Micro hands grabbed lives by their heartsick throats. The others were flat anti-germ...
Here is a new poem that is featured on Poetry Worth Hearing episode 21. Thanks Kathleen! https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/kathleen...
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