Saturday, 2 April 2016

Pick Up Your Spoon. Eat

Parsnip pureed 
with windfall apple 

tastes like a knife 

(if you get the balance wrong)

so much depends 
on texture, 
age and bruising. 

(Get it right and the broth smells like a new born baby’s head)

Graveyards 
with shadowy crosses 
play tricks 
with moonlight.

Pneumatics 
of visible air 

push through 
timpani meshes 
of speakers 
to cause tremors 
in floorboards.

She serves 
blood red soup 
in a skull for a bowl 

we sit before a TV 
that opens like a wardrobe 
on a mothball world 
(torn apart)

nothing more to say: 
pick up your spoon. 
Eat.

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