Poetry

Rumours

look I want to know who said she said
who? which one? really she said? she just?
I heard that she, well hard to say, she bred

in clumpy darks she weaved and breathed mustard
seeds dug velvet soils of minds and kissed
her stony shells of life with cuss, upon cuss

upon cuss that buried. rain spawned – no can, no need!
a certain yeast, of blurry frame, so fast - like train like bus?
no. stands still. gnawing teeth in soils of moist black fleece.

now scurries along paths, just silence. then watched, just left us,
plunged without hands, so hard to say, all drowned for Who?
just fun? no, sorry, she said what, did what, let her speak: Just

what? excuse Me! alright I do, which one
are You? all I heard, were words whispered fingers black,
and licked my ears. and they smeared, spread thick your

greasy paste. couldn’t leave it unposed, undevoured just sat
to decay so you say? don’t know, at the end of the day
grew my own, conjured fungus to lace the crust.

Lucy Smith