fodder

18 June 2017

hitchcocked glass baubles
waves of melon
in perfume of
fresh purchase
warping unseamed
left the city
to understand
how it all gets
eaten that is
consumed
swapsies to be
an all over
attitude
inconspicuous flowers
the socket game
arachnophobia spreads
on turf suck and
funny to put on
rustic kit
blowing
old techno
shadows of fig
crossing back windscreen
if Don’s Party
at the CFA
is back in style
I’ll cut my ties
she says to
an unseen crowd
conglomerate scriptures
dragging the family
into rushlight
as if we aren’t
grasses anyway
can you breathe
between massive freedoms
or speak
without irony
barefoot on
sweet flag
laid down
in hazelnut half-dark
dressed in
this old thing
pastures of myrtle
coagulate
turfy clogs
that shod you
we can eat
some sedges
with the right
procedure we
walk by food
often
a pipe, a high,
a swiftly made roof
from: ‘of an eye’
darkened pupil
bulrush brown
punctum or
high protein plug
sticks break
and splinter
I won’t drive
the propaganda truck
whose wheel is
matted in a slow-
reveal terrain of
intricate pondings
strapping that
refuses to answer
the question

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