Wednesday 12 October 2011

GARDEN POME

toxic orange cloud is INCHES above me 
and 
the
exotic plants lurk lurid their
colours
gone
hangover
weird.

birds sing like when i was a boy and we moved house.

the lights coming in low and sideways.
the apple tree wrapped in thick vines
is
a
benevolent
monster
and is sprouting blooming horns.

the grass i grew long
for the grubs for the birds
and
for 
the tiny bears and the baby armadillos.
biodiversity
creeps
round
the
old
wooden
furniture
no one wanted to sit on any more.

the toxic cloud is heading down river.
heading east.
the
cigarette burning
in
my
fingers
is a pure a joy as i think i’ll ever find.

i tap the ash in an empty beer bottle
staring into the depthless blue till 
i can only see
floaters sparkling and drifting
over
my delicate eyes;

the
bright dots of another universe.

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