Vinegary maid, chalk on the back
of the loser, neighbours sprinkle me
with salt to preserve me till Spring.
Fuck. My writing’s so embarrassing.
A sick fern in the still air,
I lurch from grass to give up
my wisps to the clouds, & the NOs drop
down like white bird shits blot
the gravel. Give me rain & sun!
I forget my shape in a choke of weeds.
The editor’s smug, has a different view;
I mute him hotly. My dreams flash blue:
on the horse’s bone back I’m dragged
through briar & twigs as I shout HELP!
HELP! I’M GOING TO SNAP MY NECK!
Then we leap into lake, hit rock, lie wrecked.