Stubble & tendril
stood up just like a man. Al-Khidr taught Moses
a secret of weeds
original want ………foundational promises all
whipped into season.
Those women who grow
must now allow males their god, a king.
Phillip wears the beard
& circles weird.
Recumbent in copse
he waits upon a holiness in ragged denim.
Wash, condition sits to sprout earth robot seed.
is a fancy restaurant
the plate. Dew & dues
gavotte with sunshine,
buds. We all stink
of rain, loam & wood-rot.
Roll out lips, piss & fondle worry out the shoots nipple song
leather thong out over town, down to pond.
Beneath a tender spew of sperm babies ball in bellies as
bees hurtle through a sky burnt with spore. Just fantastic.
We park our cars
then shred our underwear.
Beyond a fence of fertile ferocity,
feasts in the timber tumble
the trick is to refuse humble
to the clearing
is not so endearing. Wine arrives in tubs,
Phillip is there with feet stained mulberry
save the planet
by force. The future is as oblique as our busyness.
To end on a wheel.
Dead bracts for hats, shudders in the trees. Women drink sacrament then heft their sacks of blade… a last blast harvest. Chopped like Osiris,
the Summer King must be traceless.
Immortal in revolving fatality, Phillip seems unimpressed
as his vitals are sprayed & planted
by glorious gory-girl gardeners.
In blood we come to knowledge –
only the crown, something that befuddles gender,
& oh so sharp.