Friday, November 7, 2014


Not Like Earth

On this world,
the small vertical burrows
aren't made by tidal worms;
the sharp-toothed quandri
dig into muddy lake marges
(there are no reeds);
mouth up, they lunge
at any foot-quake,
feed on the hapless gabaroon,
but deal a nasty bite to us.
There is no “barefoot” here,
why I became a cobbler,
not ecologist.

End of poem

Are you listening, Andy? More ichno-lit!

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