Saturday, 27 March 2010


Overwhelmed with visual information and flooded
over my eyes up into hairlines through follicles
lapping at the connections between sleep and not
lying where I fell and decomposing
amongst last year's hazel nuts left hollow by jays or squirrels
smelling rich and rotten between annual strata of leaves
fallen and lifted, levitating upon the points of bluebell stalks.

First to feel the primrose bloom, growing like an emotion
between my shoulder blades don't move, don't move
all moments pass and this will pass too soon
in a coppice in company with spring.

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