erbacce-press

Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...

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Steve Rushton

1.12

 

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,

Scattering death,

Bringing new life

Of fire.

 

 

 

 

1.13

 

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.

 

 

 

 

1.14

 

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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1.1

 

(revelation)

 

I used to paint with paint,

Now I paint with food,

See infinity

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

Individual qualities

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,

Before habit

Closes the door

Again?