Solaris Hymn 40

This mortal earth
the millionaire denies it,
the egotist claims her
and in missing the light,
and calculus
of Solaris,
the revelation of suffering
avoids them.

So they only pass,
leaving unloved children
to repeat their wrath
and continue
the cycles of mortals.

O hold up you high
Piraeus’ glass at midday
and know
the wealth of nothingness.

Socrates is there
with wild hair
on the bed made by slaves
still dreaming.

Sappho is dead, just dead.
Her corpse wrapped in

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Children Of The Baby Boomer

You bring me bones,
I cannot walk.

You have the hours,
I don’t deserve time.

It is nothing anymore,
there in that cheap
apartment building,

my father has a moustache,

he smeared SpaghettiOs
on the walls.

We live in a giant daycare nursery
built for the entire world.

My flesh is not as good
as the muscles that hold your

On Monday
I’m boarding a space cruiser
for the land of opportunity.

You have the hours,
I don’t deserve time.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin