Mandragora

A growth. A cancerous cell, a hallucinogen.
Twittle me pink and fill me with folly,
oh little-loved, lustering fiend.
The sailing ships went, sent the words in pursuit
but grow on you did, filamentous root,
grow on and on into blood and the marrow.
I shrieked if I saw, if I smelt, if I sucked
you crusted in languor, and split me asunder.
A twitch on the wind. A pollen-head bursting.
So smother me silent, unravel my protons,
oh deleriant, violet angel.
The aeroplanes pitched, ditched the cabbies to boot
but grow on you did, filamentous root,
grow on and on into blood and the marrow.

reader

Take yourself away
cling on to the letter "E" where it starts
the white spread of page, the crumb, the stain
the pressed flower
leap to the next blot of ink, tumble down the
scratches and stories, don't read-- just climb.
You are escaping an eye, a mind
wholly enmeshed in these letters, one
whose breath catches to see what new pages
might bring. Run, then, tiny spirit,
through books and books, to the end of
the story. There and only there will you
vanish --pop!-- into the safe oblivion
of the dust jacket.

carpet to wall

Lines, white on white
a worn washed quilt,
all white and empty

Here is the land of my battle
the stains that could be blood
I have fought the air.

Lines, skin on skin
Once I fought myself
then the suit of armor came

Two ants crawling, lost
through the crack on the wall
and I am bludgeoning no one.

Lines, carpet to wall
this silent land, this silent war
the salt crusting the skin

Drove the sword in, only
the suit of armor had grown a body
flesh and blood

Lines, white blood leaking,
pooling; a man after all,
but without courage.