Tasmanian Europa Poets' Gazette No 84, April 2011

Time rushes on as the Earth spins through space; determined and inevitable, like a mad top, it whirls on, obeying gravity’s command just as does the moon and the other planets. I can feel the draft as wind rattles at the windows of my house. This could be a ride in an amusement park or perhaps I am a disease that nibbles at the planet but the fact is that I am made of uncountable atoms that are mostly empty space that exists between the nucleus and the electrons that circle it. Scientists tell us that the relative distance between the nucleus and its electrons is the distance between Wynyard and Burnie. I am therefore mostly hot air. Think about it.