Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...
August passes summer on
But September, September,
Death is in the air.
Summer’s life ceases.
Cold winds bring dread
October old and dry but burning red,
Bringing new life
O alchemy, you are the test and
Measure for me. You tried but did not
Turn, base metal into gold, but I
Have turned a paper plate of virgin
White, into a rite of fire, far
Richer than your dreams of avarice
Could ever desire.
O paper plate you are transformed, transform
Me too, from base material with fire
To something burning with desire, to be
Beautiful like you.
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I used to paint with paint,
Now I paint with food,
In powdered turmeric
Or a soy sauce stain,
A splash of red wine
Or Linghams 100% chilli sauce,
“A mild piquant relish
And appetizer of delightful flavour”
Though problematic drying time.
I use the mess of life
And make it messier,
Burn to bring out
Of various dried fluids
But working with these remnants
Am I negotiating
Yet another novel strategy
Or is there a chance
To see beyond artifice,
Closes the door