On the block

[cidermaid]

On the block (1st Edit)

The trees are moving lies.
Winding down their
green and golden tendrils,
grasping at my crown.
The bridge, where there is always
Coming and going, feels ridged
under my thumb.
The splintered sapling that died;
the charcoaled remains internalised,
cannibalised. Entombed, hidden
by sleight of hand;
now scratch and etch their lies.

But I feel their imperfections.

Samurai Bonsai make their move.
Cored and coated, a burning splinter,
carbonising dross. Until,
with lidded singularity
the sum is in free fall.
Bunched in tight formation.
Free floating.
Waiting upon the tide
of shaved imaginings,
cavernous and wide.
In-drawing dawn.
See the trees move.




On the block

The trees are moving lies.
Winding down their,
green and golden tendrils,
grasping at my crown.
The bridge, where there is always
Coming and going, feels ridged
under my thumb.
The splintered sapling that died;
the charcoaled remains internalised,
cannibalised. Entombed, hidden
by sleight of hand;
now scratch and etch their lies.

But I feel their imperfections.

Taken down, turned around.
Cored and coated, a burning splinter,
carbonising dross. Until,
with lidded singularity
the sum is in free fall.
Bunched in tight formation.
Free floating.
Waiting upon the tide
of shaved imaginings,
cavernous and wide.
In-drawing dawn.
See the trees, move.