AN ODE ON MY 41ST BRIRTHDAY
Earth is beautiful
when it’s not trying to kill you.
Infinite Earths interacting weakly
one in which we can
prove our worth, our own skin.
I liked being young.
Not having plans or random pain.
I still like it; still looking out from
of eye socket, nothing
has changed except for everything.
Murmurs at night
become recognisable in retrospect.
Memories of mouths like the “o”
in “gold” not “old,”
oculogyric in the moment,
fighting for breaths as if drowning.
Orbit of the eye,
forty-first orbit of our small primary
wheeling through, displaced,
the random universe,
arbitrary, finding in its arc
a purpose between dark and dark.
Orbit of the I
blessed with blissful anonymity.
Wisdom born over overseeing
PR and marketing
crush the fine wine of hurt
talent from many an introvert.
despite biology’s digressions.
A bolthole on failed Mars
no confidence inspires.
Life died there. Three billion years
later we evolved here to care.
Here now tumbling
from the cradle, endlessly orbiting
our unexceptional sun
until cremated once
and with Nova Sol, twice,if there is a Big Bang, which is nice.