God is in a Twinkie
in its nineteen thirty wrapper
and still has plenty of spring
in his spongy cake.
Each time I confess
I eat two God parts
from before Twinkie production
was suspended in twenty-twelve.
The resumption of Twinkie production
after several months in twenty-thirteen
causes me to suspect
they are fake God parts.
I am pleased to read that niacin
is one of the ingredients
that composes God’s
golden body and white creaminess
combined with wheat flour
corn syrup and corn starch
and sanctioned by Maris.
Maris was absorbed into Saturn
when the Romans conquered the Etruscans.
Every December during the Saturnalia
it looks a lot like Christmas.
copyright © 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney
The sun slowly enters
the lens and shaft
of a telescope
that last night
peeked at Saturn’s rings.
The white horse
walks the circuit
of the pasture fence
knowing it takes me
to get my boots
and hat on
before tending her.
A hornet drifts
bloom to bloom
where the honeysuckle grows
erratic flight paths.
This is my only map
to the center of the universe
and if you must borrow it
you need to lift the corner
at the hill top
before rolling it up
so it is easy to carry.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
The sun drags us across the galaxy.
The shy moon slips back into the earth.
A background noise is contained in the void.
My job is to navigate the sun
through the echo, not running into anything
more substantial than gamma rays.
I make course corrections from the kitchen
at the sink as I wash dishes.
It is accomplished by how I align the tableware in the drainer.
The affect of these imperceptible course changes
may be measured no sooner than ten-thousand years.
I determine the corrections by observing the flights of magpies.
If I hold the refrigerator door open too long,
Jupiter slows its orbit and repositions its moons.
If I forget to sweep the kitchen floor
Saturn alters the tilt of its rings.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney