Page 25 — Tom Sloane
my face was in space
my face was in space
until my mind exploded
all over the place
Seven yellow moons.
My spacecraft reflects them.
Nice, but I’m locked out.
Warning: Space tourists,
do not smell the flowers here —
viral infections.
pleasant Mercury’s
silicate inhabitants
pester the tourists
ice and rock Umbriel
what is the key to your lock?
the darkest Umbriel
Tom Sloane
Tom holds a degree in English Literature from Wesleyan, owns an online hammock store, is a painter, singer, dancer, writer, martial artist, and lover — of Tibetan Terriers, Mayan hammocks, fine red wine, good red meat, Irish thought, Nordic mayhem, and great literature. He has also been known to clarify various and complex quandaries of the English language for the troglodytic editor of this journal.
