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Poem

Curdling wave of denatured purity
Milk and acid, perverted mated pair
Waltzing, obese ballroom spinners 
Twirling, breeders spun by children’s fingers 
A fleet, in concentric circles turning. 
Churning, in hidden tunnels, empty wombs 
Clotted to lumps, a viscous drool
From spout of oesophagus poured
Over that inverted delicacy.

An internal storm blows like fury, shocks
Of bucking, lurching on every wave
Oobleck’s looming clouds
Hailing wet pellets on the deck. 
My hands painted, 
A globulous maroon
Leaking life-force, un-fatal evacuation 
Drawn-out, a living execution 
A foetal creature, whining out the morning 
Premature to see the day
Too early to bleed. 

You are my sworn foe,
Possessing me as what I am
Trapped by you on whom I depend
Breasts, hips, thighs, a soft-skinned face
A body, veneer for lunar torment.
Prophetic to the hour 
Of when the next storm will come. 
Stranded at sea, men watch from the shore.
Apathetic, indifferent,
Too far away to see
Us, the fleet of spinners 
Lost in bleeding seas.

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