Permanent Winter

I

Projection of the galaxy
on the concaved amphitheatre

of the planetarium. Underneath
light years, the lovers are benign

and inside each other.
It never occurs to them whether

starlight is human or humane.
Brief narratives on a scroll,

disintegrating like God, old as
the word in a palm--those timeless

renegades,
with their shit-face grins in the sky.

II

Blue effigies benign
as tortoises flipped on their backs;

telephones ring off the hooks.

What are you waiting for? Answer them.

III

The orbiting astronaut is thirsty.
His breathing fog pollutes

his face plate. Terror and pleasure
all seem to take refuge here

inside this permanent winter.

IV

Memory like the wounded’s limp shirtsleeve.
Imagination in a vile beneath a cop’s boot.

Their quiet ownership of the night.
You are the earthworm, forgiving their shovel

severing you in two. Poetry
is not too late. Yes,

write down almost everything.