Eve Red in Tooth and Claw

Hey! Carebear Noob
check me in local
this belt is stacked with juicy wrecks.
I watched some macro farmer
pop all the rats:
I had him buddied; he logged.

The eternal noob sees only ISK
and warps to pick the loot.
The gang uncloak -
aggro him with a T2 frig
that bobbles and webs
leaving the CAPs to pop his uninsured ship-
pwned.

The only consolation
is that sec matters here
so they leave the corpless pod
to swim back to the station.

E-peen smacking sneers at his ass.

tryphtich

Alone, hand in hand, we stand
awaiting that time when, you go away.
Tonight, we see only snatched sleep.

I am, transported to that room
by a radio interview about a hospice
for children. Overcoming, envy

at the parents sharing of life;
I stand with them, as they mark out
the dying. Feel with them that time

too special when hope sublimates
leaving only reality and the peace
that comes from correct action.

Clueless

A crescent hairline marking, on her left eyelid
drawes my attention. maybe a tiny uncut nail
was caught in a moment of tiredness.

The lid is not entirely closed. Through
a sheen of blood, I see her eye but it
is rolled into her head: maintaining the mystery of colour.

I wonder if she cried? Fot a fine trickle has marked
the corner of the other eye: forming an 'L' shape.
I did fret that these trickles and traces might hold clues.

But nothing, except her salmi coloured skin
speaks of an obvious cause. And this is a reaction,
a marker, the action of being dead two days.

And her eeyore rattle weeps by her head.
Just as we cry for her. And wonder what we did
for her to stop fighting and leave us clueless.

Clock Watching

The days sometimes brighten: sometimes it rains
and we await one full cycle of the moon.
In fact the time is marked out in memories
and opposites. Or in snatched glances of reminders,
like my mother's lips, or girlfriends nose.

Late at night, when soaked in wine, I pull
your picture from the jumble of porn
that fills my computer; and wonder why
you look so tired, mouth open,
caught in dreamingmfrom a sleep which
I cannot wake you.

My heart has sunk.
I seem to live by the beating in my stomach,
which twitches and drains to a flow of feelings.

Tears are supposed to bring comfort.

Between Waking

I awoke at just before four,
soaked in sweat, my mind raging:
I throw death curses, with venom
and maximum malign intent.
They do not bring balance.

Everything is in shadow.
A parrallel world runs beside mine.
I do both what I do
and what I should be doing:
but actually achieve nothing.

I awake at just before four,
and find you sleeping.
Only our feet touch.
Our positions of comfort have altered:
my arms now encircle you.

Who could guess that time
could pad with such slow feet?

Baby Care

In the time of Death, we all turn to God
and we are no different. Hours ago,
locked in the fury of Napoleanic sea combat,
five decked ships of the line pouring
broadsides of contractions into your body
I could not concieve of this calm water.
We stand around the perspex crib
as our dearly loved and much lamented baby
is properly named and enters the church.
We have often joked and laughed at religion.
Yet now, as the chaplin tries to lay on
the new, all inclusive, trippy, hippy
version of God: we seek for older forms;
prefering 'hath', 'thee' and 'thou':
the rythems learned in school by rote.
They offer extra weight to the solemnity.

It is 3.30, or there abouts, the time
at which the tide turns and the dead depart.