Sunday, 29 July 2012

how uneven



a habit with roots
even when upturned
and yanked fiercer than a scalp sash,

persists. It knows no other way.
how odd this taiga heart
pumps sea scales
so far from a country
newfound.

home
is where your ruby rash, my rosy lips
redden a tri-lunar night.
your cult, my arms greening
curve like weed maidens drowned
but not forgotten.

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