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1. space debris and other silent splinters




                                        SPACE DEBRIS AND OTHER SILENT SPLINTERS



olfactory memory is always the last to wilt



it’s just that this time,
we could smell the pyrite through our optic nerves

nautical smoke flares descend on the salt-cured flesh of Piraeus



                                                                               smoke between our words
                                                                               ash between our gestures



mothers, and their mothers

loop genes, stories loop marigold necklaces, hymns loop time residue, echoes loop


dust-choked
dusk-choked memories of


an edge-less, loss-less mourning





residual haunting (that vulgar mediator)                                             


                                                                                           like silent splinters
                                                                          in the universe’s porous flesh



we could just about outline the edges of the sharp, glistening objects through the thick red;


space ships, satellites and what escaped them




drift in the graveyard orbit 

or

her ‘womb of things to be and tomb of things that were’ *





forced to re-enter the atmosphere,
they perish into compressed gas




ever-migrating dust
settles deep into our porous brain matter,


                               and we are somehow caught in a fantastic surge of glitter and rot






















* ‘The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction’ by Ursula Le Guin 


















Mark