It must have been spring as
Infant spiders scudded across the grass
Light glinted on the strings to their parachutes
I watch the procession of living-dead file into the garden
Moronic they paid no heed to the
Rooks flapping wildly above
I’m not a fucking Buddhist!
I want to shout, scream and flounce
Tear flesh with my teeth and go to hell
Green Tara takes me by the hand
Tells me though tears that my emotions are auspicious
I don’t know about that, but...
I leave an extra twenty pound note in her Dana box, just in case
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