Voyager I

i wrote a poem
the world doesn’t care

binaries

i can’t not have been there
a frothing skirt
receptive

i can’t not have been there
putting sweat through hurt

. . .

Leftover (new poem)

Used, used badly they fall into disrepair
people, not exactly gadgets, tools
not exactly not
machines played for winnings
spinning tops over which the overgrown gurn

blind perhaps to their status given
something hard they learn
overwound, scraped and scratched
hidden, better unattainable,
the back of the drawer their place
to dream of healing, growth’s freedom

touched by an odd moment of sun
the rest swim in treacle
doing their best
unheeded

how the wind may seem to bend a flower to the lake

twin vectors of self
diverge yet peep inside
to track each other’s paths
almost like lovers’ glances
unable to depart
sparks arise
trajectories collapse
they reunite
escape prevented
tied in a knot
of binary velocity

A.H (ironically just one set of initials, 18th October 2021)