Harm’s made in many molecular shapes,
When we were younger, we stood in its way;
Before cats could taunt, nine lives became drapes,
Rabbits’ fecundity taken away.
Orders received, burnt twice after reading,
Sweltering thoughts of factories in May;
Sweat like small bombs on bleached floors were bleeding,
Wishbones of Peace on a warm metal tray.
The harm in life is always organic,
Find antidotes in your heart’s poetry;
Hoods malfunctioned, contagions of panic,
Where organs once authored, there’s irony.
Untold men died, several years after;
Deprived of love, natural as laughter.

Winter Moon

They might have tamed light
But the night remains as cold
As the Winter Moon beneath you;

They have remedied movement,
The creatures for morning meat
Are renewed, stock-still with fear;

They have perhaps subdued
Thermodynamic heat,
Pots on the hobs hubble;

A minority can even make
The horrors disappear,
Wielding their mistruths

And fears – the English language
Always takes the easy route;
Co-dependent linguistics

Swallows the tongue of the lesser;
They have built institutions
For churning old milk

And turning tempura
Battered out of coastal whelks,
Seasonally teaching our children

How to steal from the foundations
Buried marble, and reaching
In to where a Roman father dug;

Yet the greatest warmth
Beyond physical laws
Of love, is incomplete;

For despite these great sciences
There’s no cure for a heart conjoined
Across two universes.