Sonnet 14 (satellites)
the policeman in your head has the whip hand instructed by the trade winds of our times another coup, another militia another flickering LED mouth all these bodies running from something lost penned in by rising seas and forest fires looking for a sky free from satellites whilst they learn to blow smoke rings from the trees how old are you now in your bright body reflective and synthetic as you are turning words into electricity as the lights clear the night of all its stars a chair, a table, your perfume, a song sometimes we forget the things we have done