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As the spring dries up, the fish live on land, wetting each other with their spit and froth.
Zhuangzi, Book VI
On the top surface bivouac
poetry pizzles out anaesthesiologists
& its unfreedom avenues are shut
sonnets on sonnets
faecal floral political disintegrations
but calling it ‘My Life’
after the secession the exodus
the orchards then exit gates
gardenia-scented 100 flacons
to minimise pain but imagine
this happening at the Russian Imperial Court
orris to the same creature
year after year, day after day
minute after minute
sapping welts in civet rooms
at the HQs of luxury brands
with extra-thick doors
preventing it from seeping out
polluting the rest of the building
the abolition of suffering
knotting round gentle euphoriants
from the lakes later states
are explained through
reference to earlier states gradients
from ethers huge traffic
beyond the Arctic Circle
the earth covers earth
in the drydown fir needles hyacinth
bitter chuds of air inside
the cardinal importance
of delayed gratification
diminished ambrettes
go back to the start
the cruelty-free beach
once mined lasts forever,
& pain is what the person says hurts
