the andromeda fair


There are certain places and certain moments
when a single word you speak will evaporate
your flesh and reveal what lies beneath.

In the distance everything is magnified, desires that
we cannot reach, immensities, improbabilities.

The mountains of dawn are hidden from me now,
but I will see them again.

a stranger

On a grassy picnic slope with others
earnestly conversing
to impress, convince, promote,
a poorly outlined stranger smudged
in confessional black approaches.

We chat and I concede a truth.

I deleted their mortality, quiet executions,
no coffee, no forgiveness,
but now they’re all around me.

You’ve killed nothing, erased no-one,
all are only memories,
orgone powered, their vitality is your vitality.

Yet this stranger is no memory.
He’s real enough, although his words
and lips are slightly out of sync.

Come with me to the Spanish hacienda
where the horses are dancing in white.
I have a Tesla car, biomagnetic.

When he turns the key in the ignition,
I hear the sound of furious bees,
shake my head, decline his offer.

an alien in high heels

Her antennae emit an eerie glow,
her faceted yellow topaz eyes
are reflecting images of me inverted,
her x-rays silhouette my heart.

We’re aliens alone together, communicating
in a suitable fictional way, but she looks
at her watch whenever I discuss my feelings.

Come with me to the Andromeda Fair.
You’ll be a sensation, the only earthling.
The mother ship’s arriving soon,
an uber shuttle will pick us up.

Should I pack a lunch?

cambered cameos

memory deletion

18 thoughts on “the andromeda fair

    • Thanks and pleased to hear it ❤ –an opportunity for me to help any insomniac who reads the comments. For me, the Buddhist no-self idea is very much the idea of no permanent self. We change, a lot or a little, quickly or slowly, and we remember the different people we've been, often without truly understanding. Who you "really" are has no answer unless you're a robot, and I mostly see myself as a half dozen or so wood ducks.

      Plus, we only write ourselves, even when it's about people we've known (because it still comes from our senses and mind).

      Plus plus, I'm playing with ideas of connectivity in writing, ie, varying levels and ways of showing that. Just my ideas, and I could go on but … wake up, Sascha, wake up!


  1. For me, so infrequently do those moments of evaporation come. I treasure them when they do. Perfect connections are hard to come by. Mostly we’re “aliens alone together.” And yet, there are those moments for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear. And lunch packed. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks BG, join the dots and draw a … um … er … well, I don’t want it is exactly but I really appreciate your thoughts. In the end it’s all moments I suppose, that’s the way we are. A giraffe maybe. 😀

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Steven, you are a joy and a wonder to read. I have read this one more then once and dare say I will come back and read it again. My mind goes into a whirlwind. I want to skit to the end then start again then re read certain lines trying to hold back the explosion of images that your poems always seem to create. I bow to your brilliants Mr. Poet 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Okay, I’m blushing 🙂 . Thank you so much for letting me know. ❤ When I have busy and complicated weeks, knowing that my writing is appreciated helps me maintain enthusiasm and find some time to write.

      Liked by 1 person

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