• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 04

In Clover

I’m tickled pink that you should care,
think how your brush should smooth my hair,
or is it anniversary,
when first we met at bathroom door?
Have our gums shrunk or needles grown,
these dentin bubbles, coffee paste,
our grunts and groans, occupied place,
that cuneiform few others speak,
as if guinea, experiments?
By graves and cradle I have learnt
to max the text space in the field,
swill drink at brittle iron trough,
spread clover bed or raked-in muck,
so turn my ear to silken purse.
What now we sow will be as reap,
a bore, excite or stimulate,
nail colour bar, another term,
much deeper than a lipstick mouth,
but bristle still, call out insult,
that lazy blanket coverage,
squeal pinky, perky, stuck black, white.
Search wrestling, acting, tells me more,
they’re two or both, pair become one,
can it be here, that this our year -
translate from Eden that estate,
let fig leaves fly and name the date?