Fall is yellowed,
eyes like pathogens,
green manure skin,
recovered grins,
lust the dust of unused
wheat fields,
and I am sallow,
tinged, and wading in,
hands above hollow
stalks, my love.
She squats ‘mong rusty reeds,
holding her knees,
and I unzip silently
behind her ghost gum face,
pull out all my wicked weeds;
I’d saved the best of these
to sprinkle on her crown;
she doesn’t turn ’round.
And after all my seedlings die,
I, too, unbound;
our fallowed souls
feel one final sundown.
I love the decrepit, disturbing imagery; the stringed accompaniment to that weird Lynch short reminded me of the frenetic strings on the Clash’s ‘Lose This Skin’ from ‘Sandinista ft. Tymon Dogg: riveting and blood curdling brrrrrr
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Oh, nice connection; and so very nice to see a comment here. My late night writes are an outlet really, so I thought, this is my digital space, I’m going to be bold and include one every now and again; love Lynch’s shorts. So glad you could see the artistry. Thank you.
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I’m all in favour of being bold in writing: my ‘another friday night in paradise; pushed the boundaries for me; I reckon I got away with a few things, like going off in tangents but that’s what ‘wild’ writing is so, yeh, go for it !!!
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Cheers to getting away with brilliant verse (I speak of yours). What’s the point of wielding the pen to only one end? Glad to have a fellow free-spirited poet friend.
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thanks, Karen 🙂
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I’m liking the idea of “fallow souls”. Dark.
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Thanks; I remember the fallow fields at my grandparents farm; they were always super spooky. In this video, the souls seem to also be fallow.
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Super poetry: Behind her ghost gum face, pull out all my wicked weeds. This is seriously adult stuff. I’ve had to send Dauphy for a lie down!
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Sorry sweet, Dauphy. Cover your innocent eyes. This is the late-night side; it’s risky, but hopefully still purposeful and worth it. Thanks for commenting, Hobbo.
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It was certainly worth the effort!
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