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Tom's Poetry |
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Centrifugal Tendencieshers the fingers of a samurai dolladjusting the nozzle of a stream of mist in a 12-tatami hydroponic bay situated at the tendrils-end of the swinging arm of station sector 5 smooth hands sprinkled with droplets of condensation rapidly prune and disentangle the delicate garden of nutri-moss, forest of micro-pore, and filter-grass her own private Eden her dark eyes shift at an abrupt sound — her solemn face turning to the interruption a man's voice, sad: "my longing is to tend a garden such as this... why must be this void between us?" her answer: the endless spiral of coriolis winds. (C) 1/7/97 Tom Brinck ACCESSIBILITY FEATURES / SITEMAP / CONTACT |
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Poetry