Monday, 5 November 2012
Stabbed, brambles that already burst with blood
I suck my purple finger, swear
And noticing the naked trees -
Quivering, shivering, bare in the frothiness of the light,
The moon exposing: bulges, knots and graven eyes,
I long to make them decent once again,
To make a fancy cloth of golden leaves,
An autumn patchwork stapled to their trunks.
Demented owls go twit-a-twoo
Shhh! Can you hear?
One spears a mouse, look!
Its sticky blood glows in the lanterns of her eyes.