THIS POETRY IS MY BEING
•
THIS WORLD IS MY TECHNICOLOUR
THIS POETRY IS MY BEING • THIS WORLD IS MY TECHNICOLOUR
me and my writing
gateway drug
i drink the dredges of
your arrogance
and bitter temper.
you know me more
and love me less; this
row of teeth sharpens around
us.
it’s orchids growing
from your [BODY
PART]
over and over; why
do you hunt deer? my dear
they are so beautiful.
it’s orchids growing
in the rotting
soil between us.
my love, behind the
barrel of my gun,
your hawk is a dove.
beautiful dove, why do
you hunt deer?
i have whined around this
bullet for some years
too many.
today, it burrows out the
back of my ribs; nudges out of
some intercostal space.
orchids grow from the exit wound.
i splutter like a dying old car;
your remnants fall out of me.
my gun, why do you hunt deer?
my dear, they are so beautiful.