Ankles scissoring in tartan tutu,
Codpiece crawling with wood tics,
Born my desire again, borne
On conflicting winds flipping
A chapterless tome, white pages
A minimalist’s wet dream
(Polar bear eating ice cream in a blizzard),
Where’dtheygo-Indigo fate, publishing woes,
Done in, crepuscular creeps,
Enraptured as sinners fleeing a burning churchpit.
The vertigo world upended oaks,
Roots like old patients’ arms
Enmeshed, baptizing kids with sprinkled dirt,
Acorns tight as ballet-hose, green, capped
And falling in fallow patches.
Bent on all fours, I root
For favours and nourishment
From the interred crabapple.