notes torn from the womb of a sweating flute
as umbrella tears blink in disbelief at the Eve
enticed into the pawns sacrifice
to suffice at being the how?
the why? the when did i die?
the why? the lie? the zebras
undo optic harps that tremble in the wind
agrophobic in nature with the shoots
tangled with the air
savouring every tongue,
every eye as the Queen’s time is nigh
yet anorexic trunks devour plagues
and state the obvious;
moulds blind the flowers who become the cast