The Code

By | 1 June 2013

In untidy light
criminals bud
on manky branches Singapore, London.
Ayn Rand’s underpants smoulder
as the stolid farm workers are buried with their wills.

Healing via austerity, Orchard Rd
(bypass pity). Five tattoos.
Those summer clothes
pass this merry chaos with
a chalky insouciance…
their never-worried hip switch.

I have danced
& been forgiven. Each leaf is personal.
That same timber gives both fruit & outrage.
The cat farms an acre
we won’t feel release
until the claws dig in.

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