Two Words

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Updated: May 25

Poem by Harry Slater.

Calmed by rounded marks

Of geranium-hued flesh,

Pockets of capillaried change

Point to the blunted vivisection

Where motion ceased.

I am alive

And I have proven it

Without recourse to edges

Pried from orange plastic.

Shame still radiates

Like impact waves,

Rippling in slow motion.

Interference patterns etched

As macroscopic questions,

And answered only in

Dissolving cascades of

Deadened sound.

Image by Amy Thorpe.

Updated: May 25

Poem by Harry Slater.

Arms outstretched,

Fists our clumsy nacelles,

We stared at the stars and asked

“How close?”

Before the crust of age oxidised

Our moving parts,

we dreamed of starships

In our waking hours.

Explorers all, brave and determined

to reach new heights

and farther aways.

Lucky now to dream at all

Let alone to stretch

And reach for glimmering things.

Grounded in too many ways

By the grey dirge of survive

And the sad answer of

“Too far.”

Image by Mike Harman

All images and text copyright © Will Slater 2019 unless otherwise noted