If there’s no such thing as a vacuum
What then cleaned my carpets?
Hyperdrive a blink away
These Pyramid builder’s children
Space age thoughts ablaze
Are claiming well-spaced particles
Will drive the new space age
Secret wars of micro teams
Particles that appear to beam
Away the need for fuel
Leave it to the desert
Rich in sands of oil
To cleanse our thirsty habit
Of drinking from the soil
Reflections of reflections bounce
These particles to action
If you think you’ve got the gist
Rethink! You know
But a refraction.
Posted in nonfiction, poetry
Tagged aisha, cells, Egypt, fuel cells, future fuels, headlines, mirrors, NASA, poetry, propulsion systems, pyramids, quantum physics, reflections, solar, space, space race, space travel, technology, The Writer, thursday, vacuums
Mirror, mirror, in your hand:
(one reflection if by land)
tell me, of the two you see,
who is fairest — you, or me?
Is there some thing you hope to spy,
echoed in your own two eyes?
What is it that you pray to find
in those of us who walk behind
you — enemies, or maybe friends?
The prospect of your madness’ end?
Three blocks walked in every way,
along the same cow path each day,
both ways looked when crossing streets —
the fate you left as fate you meet.
But sallow glass won’t keep you safe
from that which lies beyond your face.
Posted in poetry
Tagged boston, craziness, crazy homeless people, madness, manic, manic monday, mass ave, massachusetts avenue, mirror, mirror lady, mirrors, monday