Prison Concept Piece

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Prison:

In the pumpkin patch,

I see your face –

Hard

Bloated

Round angled

Fiery for harvest and carved

For home use –

Isosceles eyes

Square nose

Jagged mouth agape,

Crown removed with precision

And knarly candle in place

Jack O’ Lantern prison

To light my way.

 

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Cheesecake Concept Piece

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Cheesecake:

Oh, the divine

Slice

Of your body

On porcelain sheets;

White

Patina’d

Plate to host a feast

Piece by piece –

Strawberried mouth,

Red and seeded

Speech;

I lick, kiss;

Crumbs of ecstasy whipped,

Bowl curved

In hips

Belly

Breast

Lips

Rounded

From

Which I can dip

My tongue

And eat

The vanilla, the

Cream

Cut up neat

The cramming of

Black forest cherries

Sticky and sweet

Hives Concept Piece

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Hives:

The syrupy cells,

Raised walls

Angled and filled

Your mouth, full

Sugared

And stinging

I hear the buzz,

The dance,

The vibrations of light and

Sun

Shadowed by the ebbing

Of latticed tongue

Winged,

Gossamer strong

Torn words,

Sweet words,

Pulsed out in the thrum

I lay back,

Barbed joy in

Your legs, eyes,

Throbbing

Hum,

Thick, sticky

Sibilant voice:

Apis strung

Blue Bird Concept Piece

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Dull blade of language,

From blue shard beak,

A flat sonnet

For one who cannot speak

Beneath the bell jar,

Vowels prising leaden

A once morning song;

Abraded letters caged

From petrified tongue

Run aground

From the grinding sky

Mouthing mimicry and

Rejecting the helpless things

That can no longer fly

In fast falling notes

My bird is violent cyan

Within the glass;

Sentinel plummeted

From manic nest

Criss-crossing clipped captive

Not fit for cleverness

With each beat of dull wing

Dragging feathers low

The slow words,

The slow aching words not arriving

As they did to Plath or Poe;

My bird is blue,

Lacking the grim poise

Of a crow rasping

Its bloody prose

From gnarled yew tree

Too close

To sombre headstones

It lacks the horror

Of weathered bones

In repose;

No terror from screeching owl

No frantic yellow

Of a full moon’s blare

Creeping morose

My bird is blue,

From languid eye

To shrinking foot

One colour exposed,

And its song which never comes

Is dull

As all sorrows

Are when fixed undone