Spring Letters by Antony Owen

Those trees write essays of blossom and fall
and sometimes strike twigs of lightening
to show us that roots lie in all things,
branches bellow in our blood
of strange white blooms,
clockwork leukaemia
hands stop moving,
radioactive graves
jigsaw pictures of
petri dish ghosts.
Scalp Hiroshima
back to bloom
I was human
our roots
are similar
inside we are all the same –
red blossoms are made of blood capillaries.


One thought on “Spring Letters by Antony Owen

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s