Sterno- Burn

There is a dark-haired girl on the train

this morning reading and rambling off words

like sternocleidomastoid. I try and try

to remember the corresponding structure,

but all I can see is the yellow tinged skin

beneath the mandible. Your full nape always

so warm, so inviting. And when I marched

my lips up to yours, the uncontrollable shivers

you released always cornered my thoughts

in unprecedented displays of loving remorse.

Sterno cleido mastoid,

the unwavering truth of science's etymology ringing

in my mind, turning my head from left to right,

full circle understanding that we never said goodbye

and it is that paired muscle, a chiefly mammalian

feature of anatomy, that flexes my heart.

Jupiter for the Strange

Most days I stumble through this city trying to hold up a little semblance of myself to show off to the rest of the world that I am still here with my ten toes on this planet while I dream of rocketing off to Jupiter. It's impossible, there is no Jupiter. Just an orb you hear of every now and again. Jupiter, oh yeah, the big one. Sterile and brown I believe. Share's the same star as us. That has to count for something. Now the sun, that's a sight for sore eyes. It literally makes your eyes sore. And it's the light behind all religion. Don't believe me? I have a documentary for you to watch. But it doesn't matter. Before the credits roll you'll have decided to agree or disagree or be like me and think there's some place in the middle of all the cantankerous thought that plagues our day to day quests for propagation. You should just be happy you get to ride your bike in this city with all its exotic restaurants and never-ending distractions in the middle of October when the sun is lower and Jupiter, round and sound, is nowhere, not anywhere to be found.

Unless you take a trip to the observatory, in which case good on you you cheeky little monkey.