statistics

They’re no use: the obtuse

facts have nothing to do

but twiddle their thumbs and,

hum in the dark.

 

*

 

Our love is mute

as the moon tears

 

the lilac sky

with her horn;

 

adorns the void

between us –

 

mere idea

in the womb.

 

In this early phase

we’re 9 times

 

more likely to conceive

some fabulous

 

thing no Man

can imagine. Our kiss

 

too is twice

as nice and as

 

hot at night,

on the eve of a new

 

working week,

rising to 2.2

 

in summer.

It’s true. Your thighs

 

loosed, and your eyes,

found a darker shade

 

of blue. You sighed,

turned to one side

 

and the scent

of broom

 

found the gap

in the crack

 

of the pane and came

into the room.

 

In the heat of it

all, I saw

 

Saturnine rings,

as the Martian

 

fire crowned the stars

of Libra.

 

That might not be solid

fact either, but who cares

 

when years from now

beneath the white

 

light of a full moon,

there’s a 1 in 25

 

shot you’ll take a stroll,

stop to fill the hole

 

in your head with stones

and plunge like a stone

 

in the river? No-one

saw , but a man

 

out with his dog

thinks he heard some

 

wild call.

I’d just turned

 

the television off,

looked at the clock

 

and peered at the gaps

between the stars.

 

In the morning, you’re

nothing at all, and I

 

half that, which is

no kind of fact,

 

but so?

true.

4 thoughts on “statistics

  1. Must be one of my favourite moon descriptions ever here:
    Our love is mute
    as the moon tears

    the lilac sky
    with her horn;

    adorns the void
    between us –

    What a beautiful wandering narrative of the imagination, Marco. Bellissimo!

Leave a Reply