- Vol. 07
- Chapter 12
I cultivate a haworthia hairstyle,
and opuntia earlobes that tune in to desert breaths.
Each year my bones grow rings, and creak, sway to the beat of bark
while my kalanchoe fingertips trace the roots of our species.
Prune back the years with an open mind,
fertilise the synapses,
I dance to bio-rhythms of tumbling seeds
from which new ideas spring forth.