Stone Summer

The wheel pushes the cogs around

And the spring turns to summer.

Vermilion camellias burst and fall

Magnolia flourishing its haul,

of scent and purity

The sun, the clocks go forward in search of light.

But in this country all is stony body underneath,

underhand.

On this isle the vast and bursting body

of summer, cloys, warms, celebrates, massages,

under which softness,

rises the skeleton, homunculus bony, cold, beyond death,

of institutions frigid.

Petals, blooms, bare skin honours the sky’s warmth

but the tomb of bones, of incarcerated will and

expectation of compromise,

growing up from underground

and then us, like flowers,

being eternally cut down to size

… smells like

Negation.

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