Milky Way

Buzzing and calling streets and tirades
Of that little matter, the baby's hand
Caught in the mires of a tangent universe,
And the tinkering of toddlers in
Arun's yard. Che foresaw what you did,
Endless streams of it, and my demise,
The metal connection.
The satellite dish gyrated nearer to you.
String quartet, persuade us:
Direct us all, blue, red, and white
Paint the pavements,
Ribbons let go and swim, slide.

Hard milk and hard water, the denizens
Of my little fridge, on ice. Go,
Flagship student, always at Westminster,
The cry of brass persists in us.
To save the lot. And end the clanging.
The insipid evenings,
Super long break downs
That only god could ever have brought
To rest, then
The last ones shot, left to the blue spiral.

For the tiniest white finger, I reclaimed
The sellotape and cardboard of primary
Planets, to hang from the edge. Endless bleeps
Have become a test, you watch. Wait, and
Apprehend. We, under the oak tree, as the
Politicos die, clinging to the wind.
Our chance, and the wonderful ways
They played it, narrowing down
The list.