Thursday, 26 August 2010

Poem : Perfect Melon Square

Disillusioning as it seems
your presence appears circular
like the charmed particles of purple.
A torrent of synthetics and stars
three holy kings
extracted after boiling point.
Your head
lays burried beneath a sky of tarpaulin
on the cusp of rotting tomatoes.
These onions are often mistaken for constellations.
We resist
both sunshine and soap.

Bananas hang like prayer beads
with rust-coloured mosquito vectors
commonly worshipped in supermarkets.
These trees are unleashed from cars
under the dirt of a thousand Chinese metaphors
entombed in sequence
holding green the powdered roots
of transubstantiation.
As lost
as the unseen hexagrams
of palatial yogurt pots.

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