Saturday, 3 July 2010

fragment of poem for my unborn child.

flowering Chinese cabbage | my growing | vegetable heart
wondered through the burn | ing stomach & focus | the mind
because it is coming | the rest of everything | tightly wrapped cylindrical head
the yolk & anchor of it | the cross pollination & | small, delicate version
walking with her | sleeping with us | less commonly, the mandarin

pretended it was over

the corners of the painting

smudges pushed across
the centre

sketching the stars through
asylum windows

spinning plates in yonder corn field
bleeding out

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