The sunflower seer, in its crystal potting, bathed in warm rays, plotting
Sat with its scarlet roots asleep in a bed clear and deep,
At the centre of the Chinese gardens /slash/ trailer-park dynasty trash
Winding streams and curved bridges buried beneath torn condoms and rusted fridges
Screams from old nappy rash mourn the incense burnt to ash.
Brittany, a boy, a smudged and lean and naked teen
From the shouts of chasing cuckolds and horny housewife’s cat-calls
Images of plastered make-up on lusty grins – of offers to take up.
Sneaking into showers, soapy orbs to devour,
Now sprinting for his life, willing to trade anything for his strife.
And so in the glassy heat, the seering flower and stringy boy meet
Who touches sparkling stem with quivery fingers – a snap of incense that still lingers
And the deal is done and one soon leaves but one has leaves on
Under rusted emerald sunset shades, a naked teen somehow changed,
Slinks from the source of mystery, in that polluted trailer park dynasty.
I dreamt this. Then I put it into a really strict rhyming pattern. I don’t know why.