Forms of death in dance

of a stone's edge, a flash burnt field

oozing with the coiled vine

and the turd's anger,

squares of grass lined light on tar,

breath surging through the cracked Earth,

twin brains in imperfect symmetry,

tent's whisper lying to the persecuting wind,

poison berry of sky where I 

lie down to fade.

Ploughed yards and their ache of structure,

dyed wool rustling in cubbyholes of flesh,

my cluster of rounded mirrors

and denim clad cancer

all reeling into the pitch brown eve.