A poem by: Ben Dunk.  June 20, 1969




Fly through the Universe on to a distant planet

where islets of igloos are scattered across

the surface of pumice stone

Where men dabble in rock and magnet

and no wind occurs

The incalculable silence accepts

the puny diggings of the workers

as they infiltrate the surface

Burrowing accommodation

for innumerable refugees

from Earth’s sphere

Here are no cudgels

Only survival is considered necessary

and urgency to perpetuate the human race

in the face

of oncoming doom

of the bluest moon.