'What charred Tongue may stain', 2019
At the foot of the garden, stood a picket fence.
Raw and rugged, erected by rough hands and pierced
with nails bent and snaggled spines
not attached to anything in particular, yet dug halfway
into the earth, it sat awkwardly like false teeth pressed firm into bruised gums
and like teeth, it combed the sky picking birds precariously
perched on it's spikes.
Often crows would fall between the gaps, necks half wrung
between thick slabs of wood, plumage pierced by rusted nails
sapphire, sulphite and salt of the earth..
with timid trepidation, barefoot I approached,
it's bruisy plumage; feathers thick like an oil spill
a flurry of fright
it's beak
still.
open wide enough to peer through
at the gulf of it's neck lay an ocean frothing white;
a mass of black pulp wading through; a dark tongue emerging
like squid ink
flailing from within; it's tongue is split, like a snake
flicking sharply and swallowing the glow of the garden fence with blood,
thrashing his wings, causing the fence to shake
mimicking my trembling hands
and trembling teeth.
behind his eyelids flashed heavy moons, half hung and lopping back
a low hum emerging from his belly and caught in the helix of his throat
vibrating,
still.
what charred tongue may stain?
grasshoppers lay in wait in the caverns of his lungs,
the sound ..
etching inside my ribcage,
a sigil of change.
Crickets legs do softly quake ;
the sounds of frail mountainscapes
wheezing in their sleep
on nightcaps of spoiled milk,
soothing sour tastebuds
leeching from their bitter piths.
Raw and rugged, erected by rough hands and pierced
with nails bent and snaggled spines
not attached to anything in particular, yet dug halfway
into the earth, it sat awkwardly like false teeth pressed firm into bruised gums
and like teeth, it combed the sky picking birds precariously
perched on it's spikes.
Often crows would fall between the gaps, necks half wrung
between thick slabs of wood, plumage pierced by rusted nails
sapphire, sulphite and salt of the earth..
with timid trepidation, barefoot I approached,
it's bruisy plumage; feathers thick like an oil spill
a flurry of fright
it's beak
still.
open wide enough to peer through
at the gulf of it's neck lay an ocean frothing white;
a mass of black pulp wading through; a dark tongue emerging
like squid ink
flailing from within; it's tongue is split, like a snake
flicking sharply and swallowing the glow of the garden fence with blood,
thrashing his wings, causing the fence to shake
mimicking my trembling hands
and trembling teeth.
behind his eyelids flashed heavy moons, half hung and lopping back
a low hum emerging from his belly and caught in the helix of his throat
vibrating,
still.
what charred tongue may stain?
grasshoppers lay in wait in the caverns of his lungs,
the sound ..
etching inside my ribcage,
a sigil of change.
Crickets legs do softly quake ;
the sounds of frail mountainscapes
wheezing in their sleep
on nightcaps of spoiled milk,
soothing sour tastebuds
leeching from their bitter piths.