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Black on White

you are a page of print

unharnessed eyes crawling over you

            spiders with magnifying glasses

            feeling for your every blemish


you are an echo

ricocheting between Alpine peaks

            blown from a long horn, losing volume

            as you bounce into impenetrable silence


nobody could touch you then


you are an asteroid

whirling cold, pockmarked, grim

at your most distant echo of orbit

            almost forgetting as you whirl back

            gathering speed, furnacing towards


                        that soft bellied green planet

—with its millions of eyes like spiders


now gathering energy and revenge as you spin

past the sun, atomic furnace, gleeful, excited

            in anticipation of that blinding collision


                        their compound eyes glaciered forever

in spotless ooze

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© Johnmichael Simon



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