~

mid-july’s musings ( sgnisum s’yluj-dim )

…

sing within this mirror land’s
inner-state of flux
rivers shrinking like a quack
– not the stuff of ducks

see the normalzzz spawn emerge
spot the tourists lark
where are they in january
when it’s cold & dark?

hiding like a hidden hand
sucking crumbs of bread
then the tossers barbecue
feast upon the dead

when the garden’s eden-esque
& the thicket’s thick
marmalade’s this snaring air
where the wicket’s stick

night is lurking like a nonce
creeping by the daze
but the hawks & raptors soar
catching gamma rays

buddleia’s a flame again
butterflies – a moth
summer weaves, the woodland heaves
’til she buggers off
…