Vulvic flowers
Vanishing,
Little cheep golden cicada
Leaves it's shell
itself behind
Inspiration in these
Unnoticed until crumble
Perfect glassless moonbeams
Clang their way thru equinox
And the opaline edges of winter
Cusp
There's a foul fecal cling in the air
The Nazi smell of
Projectile weapon contryfellow
Invading peaceful congregation
Where?
Why only the site of
Pure tolkienic zealand
And I feel
Gentle satin creeping spine wise
Terror
I often don't get these big people
Making Bable out of words
Their towers with rectangular glass
What are they doing with all those emails?
Bits of paper?
Gremlining around
Besuitedly waiting for judgement
I long to be flushed with apples
Newton's apple
Adam's apple
I really don't mind
As it's gift from Eve either way
I just want that sinful taste
But not the sin
Like the sin in Manus
Oh no, anything but that
