Morning brings the gull’s squall, surreal beyond the curtained windows, starting faint dawn’s debate flighting harsh and sweet.
The trees are ivy clad in a laurel bay, like a galleon’s mast & rigging sunk to the bottom of the sea.
Somewhere in the secret paths of a sun lit wood a plastic bag spews forth its innards of rags like a desecrated corpse staining the elfin fern with a black sin.
How the midges dance and in a blink gone again!
Returning to roots, a garden of forked paths, a strangler in Eden, cobwebbed her face spun the spell of lechery.
Day and night tremble on the morning and evening star.
Cast me your mantle dried on a sunbeam, some hours ago it ceased to be the longest day, summer’s musk makes my heart heavy, my head giddy.
The hill moves on, a slumbering breast of cloud blooded in night’s music on no breath of breeze.
Crepe clouds smear folds of scarlet flesh, plume a three cornered hat, pistols bloom black roses. Lady highwayman riding a sky of blood disappears, as creation eschews & the moon pursues.