The grass rippled
as a million moles scurried
around under it. Then my lawn undulated;
as the moon tugged at its sward modesty. Turf
began to roll and break on the herbaceous border. It sprayed
the vulva-leaved beech hedge with
fine, moist soil. The moles threatened
little whiskery peaks with their
comicly pointed snouts.
for the ancient intuitions, locked
up in my chemical chains, churned
in me a demented cultivation; suddenly erupted
in my garden as breasts
made of mud.
What was my lawn was now
two naked mounds of ground
with cobble-nipples from which trickled
luminous tributaries of lava:
red-hot threads of earth-colostrum cracked
my patio and burned
the bottom of my home’s plastic drain pipes. Then a whole
figure of mud, roots, and humus rose.
She screamed purple murder.
A strapping lass, she pushed
her branch-thick fingers under
the soil-shiny surface-tension of my garden; she pulled
out a partner made of mud, just like her.
His hair was blind-white roots matted
on his potato-scented head and draped
around the base of his trunk-stiff cellulose sex.
His xylem-veined member twitched
as gusts of carbon, hyrdrogen, oygen, and nitrogen
conducted it. Her open stoma weeped
a fine cord of sleek silver; she flashed
four heats of the sun with her electric glare.
They copulated in my garden.
Screened from my neighbours,
by the vulva-leaved beech hedge, they screamed
the raw noise of burned air.
His mica-eyed tadpoles swam
from the split in his mushroom glans; billions threshed
with their double-helixed tails to chase
her single meteor.
The moles witnessed all this
despite being blind. The turf
lapped the herbs
at the border of my domain; the moon
tugged wet and knotted emotions.
She screamed purple birth – a creak
like a tree as it’s felled.
And a mountain somehow slid
through her hollow-trunk vagina to squeeze
past her root-matted labia and gasp
its first air as a crackle of glacier.
All this in my garden. The mountain began
to grow past the top of the vulva-leaved beech hedge.
having noticed by now dialled
the million moles giggled victory.
Illustration Nick Victor