and my sprout grows
a meaty lip
from its anthered crown
milk teeth on the underside
it sucks and licks the air
with a stunted tongue
it is the spring
Leave a reply
Tag Archives: nature
I was crawling through the warm grass
To watch the bright wet flowers like a
Bee I laid my tongue on a petal imagined
The sweet colours I could smell the dew
Gathered round as a fog and nearby a dream
Seeping between the stones my fingers
Of water rushing cold across my thighs
There is iron in the soil and my throat
I, Adrienne
I found this on a piece of paper. I’d apparently written it, probably 5ish years ago? But who knows.
I, Adrienne
The uniform is important, the raiment,
the drapery, my skirt/ is a way of being,/
my knickers are part of what define me
Even though I look out over a goddess
in(of?) grassy hills and long/for the naked touch
of leaves on my skin, / I lie in forest beds
and notice foxcubs and woodpeckers
Here this ruffled cloth and some unseen band
Make me
In front of them I don’t know or care
much too much
the insolence of skin still becomes poison
As the sun sets over bodies
And my pack panic rises
Our other animals have fur and thicknesses.
Ruminate quietly in fields,
Waiting for death.
We have freedom to fear
and tremble in petticoats.
Side note inscribed nearby: [to kiss without defiling]
She cut loose over the copse
The morning bird:
Singing into the fog of early dew, cutting the dull
Dank clouds with velvet wings, sharp as knives.
I watch her between the long, easy breaths of branches
And their leafy veils, following her flight through
A tunnel of clear dry air until all begins to soak
With mourning tears whilst the fields and woodland
Stir, and somewhere I catch her mounted by a fairy,
Driven down underneath the roots to elven kingdoms.
I drop into my puddle of lost veils: here below,
Where the leaves are sweet with fire colours.
They stare out from their spines. They crackle
Like rotted twigs in the wind, or tiny bones.
Smooth Cider Like Syrup, in Tankard
Because it brings me dreams of green
Those fillings between hop fields and farm lads
Toiling with their flagons over shoulder and a mean
Wage, hairy youth which sup on apples
The trees in the wind with that summer pollen
Breathing through worms and fruits of the morning
Spurned through til sunset falls atop the crest
The day done the night come
Because it brings me the righteous haze of dripping
Poison, the suckling brown bottle beauty sweating
Cold, the farm hands amid the crops caressing hands,
And beads of milky sweat on the brow, they stream
Salt shaken and mineral and pure to the lips
They press on the tongue their sheep’s eyes
Because it brings me sugar with its continual sipping
And slurping chasing the dream, taking away
Meagre earnings for meatier pleasures,
and the hanging fruit.
I’m Not
Butcher boy you cut it to an act
Some divine spark a mere and disgusting event
In your fearful eyes and me some stunted stag,
The gore of your knife-wielding hunter
Splat on my little horns, mocking us both
Scag 