home truths.

today i am in london. yesterday, rome.
for the weekend, i worked on the land.
i fought the brambles with a scythe. my arms, my legs,
they are scarred with the briars teeth.
they may have won the battle
but we won the war-
the cherry tree was liberated.
we pissed on it, to
celebrate.

this year i will not have a garden.
i pushed it down into the bank
the raised beds of things i must accept
to move on – its fine; i gave away
my seeds:
the sunflowers, the poppies, they
are now all free.

bare-breasted, we sit in sulphur and contemplate
the oracle; us; turquoise, magenta
(i m sorry about the cancer)
my hair begins to mat and turn natty
bring me wine, bring us figs, we will sit
in the steam and tell your future
for sure it is brighter
now that you have moved on
but my touch is still
the thing you dream of
may the road rise
may the road rise
may the road rise to meet you,
may the sun forever be warm on your back,
may the knotweed loose its grip
on your heart. may you know
how a stinging nettle
really feels.