by Steven J Fowler.
I have been entered into a competition.
first prose I will be a withered copse unrepairable
a babies Billy’s Meat best hooked for curing
in the concern to save space for Vegetables
that we’re bound to need when the end comes
the plots of the weathered populace
as the burnt holes in a fake family photograph
Billy looks a bear but his meat is from elsewhere
I will be a weary Polka where loved ones don’t
rain in wires, lifted for Frank’s book of hymns
sunk in a weeded corpse, a last sense feeling sunken ribs
being really sick of the moaning
& in the corner with their alcoholo twisters
I feel no regret for I truly love the memory of the zoos
I see to this, as we all are, shrivelled colours & lots of dropping.