The grass rippled
as a million moles scurried
around under it. Then my lawn undulated;
rude movements
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.
My desire
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.
The neighbours
having noticed by now dialled
999. Whilst
the million moles giggled victory.
.
Mark Goodwin
Illustration Nick Victor
ILL YTH
rippled-scurried-undulated movements
turf sprayed with ‘THREATENED’
their snouts’ desire locked
churned erupted breasts
mud now ground trickled lava
cracked burned whole rose
murder pushed under pulled her
matted draped sex twitched nitrogen
weeped flashed glare
garden neighbours screamed air
swam threshed chase
meteor this turf
herbs’ moon emotions creak
felled slid-squeeze gasp
glacier began hedge
neighbours dialled victory
*
grass million under moon roll
soil whiskery
comicly desire ancient
chemical-demented mud
lawn mounds nipples’ luminous earth
patio-home’s figure
she she thick shiny out
blind scented base
veined carbon conducted
sleek sun in
my leaved raw tadpoles
split with single moles
being herbs’ border tugged
purple tree somehow hollow
root crackle my past
neighbours noticed 999
Comment by Mark Goodwin on 3 September, 2015 at 10:30 ammyth movements
threatened locked breasts
lava rose her nitrogen glare
air-chase-turf-creak-gasp-hedge victory roll
whiskery ancient mud
earth figure out
base conducted in tadpoles
Comment by Mark Goodwin on 3 September, 2015 at 10:34 ammoles tugged hollow past 999