Читать книгу fertilising the pomegranates in persephone's garden - Finn Rose - Страница 3

ivy and brick walls reach up the skies and limit

anyone dares to oppose

the letters worded with precision

feather gliding 'cross the paper; keep out.

spelt red-ink sure.

i spend my days tiger-walking

up and down the fence

or polishing the white-lie blades forged deep within the kiln of me.

i wear a crown of scrap-metal pieces

pomegranate stains my fingers

cleaned sacredly in rituals

i rule my skeleton with pride, preciously planned-ahead

but even on the brightest days, the sun is bound to set.