S p a c e s  

On a 2021 odyssey, I tweeted a poem to space: 

White hole stars: pen-pricked pages 

(mid night-shut book) by whose hands? 

Mars’ dustbowled redmist rages 

against vacuumed Word – cosmic sans. 

Creator writing mattered spaces 

tetrised legoed furnaced ampersands 

amass dark-heart-particled phrases 

rhyming our Earth’s breathy lands. 

Space just X’d back: 

PRETTY 

YET MISSING. 

WORDS AS GAPS. 

SPACES SCREAMING. 

WRITE IN FULL FEELINGS. 

PULL IDEAS TO ELASTIC END. 

WRESTLE ALPHABET TILL MEANING DANCES. 

ART UPHILLS. 

AI APES. 

POETS' TASK IS GLASS, NOT MIRROR. 

GIVE GOD LUNG. 

HOLD CLEAR BLUE REEDS. 

SPEAK ONE TRUE POEM. 

TRUTH BREATHES...