Spring

I’m melting.
The popcorn-yellow crowd giggles
As I shriek for yarrow.
Now they can see me beat.
Finger tips are printed,
A tale in lurid headlines and inked columns.
The fleshy cascade gurgles over my lips
As I leak myself, bleeding my true colours.
I’m shivered purple:
They laugh, snow can’t get cold, they say.
And Winter won’t sob heat.
Therefore you’re a cheat.
I try to staunch the acid with pale fists.
Hide and seek, the spurts squeak through my fingers,
Speaking to readers in juicy shades:
‘Roll up, roll up, as her whiteness fades.
You can smell her stains,
The liar cried virgin.
But the whore ruts like the rest of us,
She faked skies from our grounded slave sties.
Listen to her face, she wears Adam’s blood
And babies’ breath and mothers’ sweat.’
I haemorrhage sticks and stones and flies
My spawn’s surprised-
It normally emerges as snowy snarls and airy sighs.
Then I hack up long guttish coils
That look like my first day at school.
They pool at my base feet.
Yet my children are ephemeral, they soon gasp out of existence,
skulking back into my skull-like womb.
Of course, their ghosts are hosted by the viewers,
In clotted sniggers and smiling strings.
Yet things like this don’t bother me,
Holda’s returned, you see,
And I shroud my think-lings
In white holes and bony yawns once more.
And though the distant spillage stings,
I swear that I will never again flow a flaw.