It was a breech birth,
scuttling the forecast...
The torches are blazing
the blades are alight...
It was a mixed affair
of love and hate...
Becoming,
antinormal was not a...
The glint of gold amongst the green
a berry ripe with autumn’s sun...
To skim the sky
like swifts...
Knowing the beginning
and the end...
Hot fish
becomes topiarist...
I would not bend the
truth. A grape in mouth...
In this cruel summer,
body becomes a river...
I have a new visitor in my garden,
A Mummy Maggie...
Thousands of emeralds
cradle my skeletal frame...