Chocolate croissant eaters anonymous May your passionate true purpose be revealed in your neurotic embryonic bypass, gas-mask placenta I mean nothing by her yours I’s I mean eye like icecream No question We’re not so different We both go to school (in and out) It’s up to you to know purpose What butter, baby I’ll
Tagfree verse
Much of a Muchness
I. Apoplethecary There were days when, fettered by the combustion engine, tick-tocking toked-up daze Of an electric, lithophane, plugged in life, Honed by a thousands hints when so small things became wrapped up in skin, So begin to fester underground in the belly of the beast beset by newsfeeds Of felled trees and ever more
Speaking Eryngos
The sea burning, the heads of blued Thistles nodding now, You are drift Ing across the dry grassy Field of perception. Above me, Humming with the Softness of hands in mud, Words wing and land, Clutching the branch of hope That this is finally a sign. The ache between the dunes, tilted Towards