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John Wilkinson

Again at St Juliot


Entreaty of underbrush
              hauls down its prize,
thrashing yellow spasm
              felt as voluntary

while the sun in fiercest gall
              sucks out airy
curls from the last lockets –
              audibly they crackle,

blazing as a whirlwind
              fans images
              then withdraws –
shakes rosaries of live heads

ratcheting through air, air
              that is slim mire,
              mire felt colossal
in evacuated cobalt shadows.

Here is ghosting of objects,
              favouring an im-
              material voice,
deportment more luminous

than furze bushes flakking
              from a multitude
of twists an averse ghost
              brushes through

more than ever speechful,
              vehement in
face and body set at naught:

here is an eventual product
              edging over
              charred roots
cloud is a withdrawing from.


Her Traitor Heart


Disintegrates as yellow tips
light on the green
spike mounds, as the you
             you once were, left
the confines and tore through
bracken, as the rampant

you threatened you, as you
nurtured a false heart,
             another you
took the breast in possession –
             usurper, so parched
gulped its fill of tribute –

it was lymph tribute spilling
on a low burning bush,
drawn by a diversionary
             heart, set its snares
to make a furtive feeder
             map, shadow body,

every nodule a would-be
would have you,
                          as an organ,
             as a sunset organ,
what it choked, what it
             pressed, blew apart,
piled flower mound
dissembling upon spikes.


In memory of Veronica Yu, physician

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