NaPM April 12 2016
#21
running very late, not so worried about writing (not got much in the tank this year) - really enjoying reading all the submissions.  keep coming back to re-read.

A full term fermentation
releases it’s fruit.  
After the birth
all that remains are tails.
Collected dross,
racked into a vat, drop by drop
until it is topped off.  

It starts out as air space,
surface sugar moulds, collect
and coalesce.  
Clinging to the plastic tank of confinement,
a mother is conceived on the dregs of what is left,
an acidic presence that prevails.

Formless,
thick membranes of opaque jelly,
slip through fingers, fall at feet.
Flaccid, yet fluid enough to weep,
there is growth.
A creep in depth and breadth
until a vintage is declared.

Full of good nutrition and good “for what ails”
A high grade mother is like a fine wine
something to be savoured.


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#22
Day One

When you agreed to marry me
I punched the clock. I’m on your Time;
your trust my wage, our currency
a precious stone. I will divine
my treasure and store it on high
where neither moth nor the vermin
will go unwatched, or ever try
to undermine the predetermined.
But will is strong and body’s weak
and I am certain to reveal
approval’s not the pay I seek;
I want your company and deal
more innocent than most allow.
So tell me… Can I clock off now?
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