salt me take me fresh then lay me
swift another layer to the boxed
curated sets of the wishful and
the wounded the keen seers sniff
testers unscrewing all the lids
discount me for the irregularity of size
what odours might have clung throughout
a long careen of odious endeavour
the walks in fields of ordure still
the flesh is firm enough for feast old
enough to bleed and butcher
I love this poem, particularly the first section.
ReplyDeleteThanks Robbie, I’ve been SO low, but I’m on the rise now the physio is one the case.
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