O



Here's a sort of riddle poem. It's just been published in this Sci Fi 'zine which I am really looking forward to reading. And here's a gratuitous picture of me holding it. 






O


what am I turning quietly and fast 
in the great I am, I am here 
I am bristling and crusted stripped and pocked
I am teeming and meaning what am I meaning -
where did I come from what cupped me a whole
my core and my aura where rockets burn through
my poles and my gibbons my beautiful girth
Im rolling round tundra and steppes and snow
I am playplace and gut, retina, sisal and gold -




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