And so I lay in the fields,
Slumbering in despondent peace,
A doll of crooked stone,
With vile puerile flesh
And a fine shroud of cobwebs
The mustards, peaseblossoms, poppies surround
My tomb, my birthplace, my boudoir
The snapdragons and foxglove bloom
Housed in my eyes and fingers, my mouth
My chrysalis and casket
I have begun to take shape
From the hideous cygnet
To the resplendent swan.
I am your doll.
I am your insect.
Your pupa in both forms
I whisper a silent love and a quieter hate,
Breathing out oneiric sugar and disquieting bile
And so I’ll shed this flesh!
Turn from the hornworm to the moth
The maggot to the fly.
And I’ll leave this blasted heath
And sing my goodbyes from the beautiful skies