one trip to moon and back

one trip to moon and back.

how different now this earth of frozen pollen.

hungry bees

once happy as a portrait on a breast,

now flies asleep as stitches

somewhere about a corner of a face;

 

a face beyond the comet of immune.

bad stars now sprung from cages

each heavy as a snow-plough,

crossed with Salem's knot

in boxes safer than a womb.

how soon before our fate and marble meet?

 

now drunk are we as skittles

in a spiders queue all merry as a lamb.

Sunday baits our taste-buds

and a hundred gods of no good use

belching hymns of solitaire and ham,

to cross our palms with sentiment and spit;

 

no more unique.

one as much as otherwise another.

one tree felled

another mouthpiece shouts un-recognised;

to moon and back.

from mannequin to custard;