to follow black sky dot (2)

1 SAILOR

He was older, but he had been modified. His employer had been loving. Formidable, still fast at 260 pounds, he maintained his skills with games and training. His heart was bad. Soon he would die, and many backups had been activated, armoured, suited, trained in etiquette. None would ever match his .127 reflex speed. He favoured white t-shirts, and old-fashioned cigarettes.

2 MAN His employer was twenty something, probably six, at a guess. Many millions, and a tanned Egyptian skin mixed with surgical blue highlights. Yachting, a few years military, and the schemed powers of a banker. Touch loved the man. He would die for him. Soon.

3. THE MOTHER

She was/...

indifferent.

2011 Peter Greene.

magic bugs

                                           magic bugs

   magic bugs

           in the undergrowth  make you wonder

   what mechanisms course through their not -very -veins

           below their silver skins below silver skeins

of moon light the way  they

       change,  mouthparts  seeming one  way  , then

                  another  in the tricky light-  quiet

      sounds  of click and whisper  in the night  as

                 they

                       rearrange  the twigs and branches  on the ground

                             and    braid the furze

                                                        to greet the day

                             with a forest  like

                                                 vision on acid -words etched

                            and hidden everywhere  shifting  half-meanings hid

                       in what is still everyday  and growing -and

                                 which bugs are they?  you might catch one

                       in the gloaming , and crush it in your hand

                                   the tiny machines to reveal -but then

                        a thousand lights like fireflies

                                                    might gather  round  you

                           and decorate the forest

                                                       with strands of your hair

                          and  scraps of your scent (the missing

                                  persons hounds to confounde- ) even  - echoes

                           of  your laughter and wonder, as you beheld

                       the truth behind the secrets of the morning

                                                          and went - glad

                            in the  going

                                                with    that     knowledge

                              (even so,  cyber -entomologist  and

                                                                    seeker of secrets - 

                               even so

                                          might you go).

2011.

reading: that cat

children's rhymse ii

that cat she wanted to go for a sail

to feel the crisp wind

to spin a great tale

and so she stitched

bits of leaf with her whiskers

and bound many sticks

with the help of her sisters

'til her craft was done:

cat-sized, quite small,

but sturdy, and tipsy,

then steady in squalls.

ii: the Whale

and so when the cat

was well out from land

she saw a fine beach

green trees

golden sand

so beaching her boat

she stepped on the shore:

and of cat, boat, and island

nowt was heard more.

iii: Riches: The Return:

'til later

much later

after spit-up and gale

our cat washed ashore

all glued up

and blue.

But when her five sisters

undid all her wrack

they found 'twas ambergris

and now they're quite rich.

Meow.

2009 Peter Greene.

One truth: If the Earth Humans have any one thing to contribute to the Galactic cultural record (and so the Council has deemed it be, for in subsection 243d7 of the Act Regarding Regrettable Exterminations of Substandard Species it is very clear that a population of this size and nature rates only the minimum default in terms of Recollective Cultural Monuments), that thing is their culturally ubiquitous Big Mac foodstuff.

This dish embodies all the waste, greed, and sensory excess of this tragically flawed species and represents their truest arts, those of constructing destructive mechanisms (in this case a food-protein extraction system not only cruel but ultimately a contributing factor in the poor, stumbling creatures' need to be put out of their prion-rotted, hopeless collective misery...imagine eating one's own direct genetic cousins!) and of appreciating the glories of destruction and entropy.

It is no surprise to this Council that the unfortunate Humans have reached this pass, with not even Galactic intervention now capable of rescuing their broken telomeres, damaged and frankly radioactive biome, or repairing their violence-addicted group mind. We did try to warn them, but they just beat up the emissaries and stole their vehicles and clothing.

We are in fact happy that the physical and memetic diseases bred in that hellworld will not have a chance to spread to Galactic culture, now that the Planetary Cleanser has mopped up the last of those demon-monkeys. Now, if you gentlebeings will open your packages, I give to you the latest addition to Galactic cuisine and the epitaph of a brave, yet failed species. The food has been safely adjusted for your individual chemistries... you may absorb without restraint.

                               moonsnake climb

             There are certain things

              that are only active

              in a bright silver moon ,the kind that comes

              between three , and four. Mistletoe

              and lemurs, for one -(and another)- and there are many others,

              who wake ,and listen , and grow in this

               luminescence - look about

                with large quiet eyes, crick crack leaves open,

                move in a subtle way

                around the trunk of a tree - even thus

                the moonsnake climbs, only to wait

                  through dark or heat, sometimes weeks

                before another hour like this.

2010.

i wish i could draw

cat crawled into

   a lattice of clematis

 on the porch

       not invisible  ,not

hidden from the sun , but

      unnoticeable, and fat, and shaded

 from above. My love for her

     and the long thread-brown  stems

  she has found her way

         into  a cylinder of  ,  and

the sun,   and the way she

can't quite get her face comfortable

 these;  i wish i could draw ,  b

 cause  no  photo  could  show  you  

on the cedar planks in shifting s un

            how she did it

2010.