the seven feral tasks
of the
'florals'
no. 1
– the spinning flat rose gives birth
Your mouth is full of repeated language. Flora. open your ears.
if you touch it tympan' it is a yellow one – its loops to the side three.
if it is more off a square.
Calanthe you will hear a babbling.
Lily the loop is to stop eating pink buds that are made fast by a hundred stitches.
Maryam stay still while a spinning.
a flat rose is giving birth.
in the top corner is a circle of magic blue containing a code.
the redder rose is hiding on the grey wall.
a wreath of blossoms that brake away,
chattering, a small line of yellow and one of ombre ends.
edged in satin that is folded in and over and out and under and turned upside down,
so no there are no escapes.
and curse's.
…
no. 2
– flowers are everywhere and nowhere
Rose, if you look-see there is a big big pink posy lie-ing whole-ly to itself.
grey grey grey as cloth for cheese … can become gasping.
some days, the petal-pink is turned away from a laughter, Alyssa.
and a tough tall wall built of bricks of dark red will shine a satin cheek with ...
blue blue butterflies and desiccated lounge flowers.
these, reach all over, like I said, and float about half the way and under specially the butter, that covers a stickiness, and more more that are not so small and they flow on.
more blue and they are the soft soft ones.
and the buttonhole slithers and zizzles up close … together. like a sighing.
eyes blossom.
and part of the square is broken and falls down even though it is grey.
its broken-ing out. this one frames on the move.
…
no. 3
– all the flowers in the world are formal now I swear
Smelling like sulphur, Sylvie, the big yellow box is sliding down the wall.
squar-er-ed. off.
a loopy loop soup of sheer with knots as buttons spin-in between turmeric.
and dull dull … green-er-ing. ly.
One task is to perfume the air above.
this.
this to (too) regular it needs tonguing out, petal-ling over.
in sounding, flower flowers are everywhere and nowhere.
more more tinny-tiny hiss their own.
way way.
theirs is furrow and feather. grey.
there's is a too square. it echoes.
…
no. 4
– she wore a blue coat with flowers on the inside
Your mouth is full of chatter, Hyacinth.
small one, you are made like bleached cream chaassen-ed cheese,
mild but with 3 hexagons and one circle lie’n in wait.
the long line is bein in the middle – again.
Take the small edges and mouth them Monica.
then on the Friday.
laugh out loud.
look its diving something again … but it's only a pleat.
there is blue above and everywhere and all around,
squirming inside the edges.
that have a wriggle-dy coy to line up square.
but not’n …
no not’n two knot.
on the back are 51.
…
no. 5
– small puffs of happiness flowering like a stammer
Aster, small puffs of happiness are busy flowering’d. flowers flower-s.
on the right day it will be Monday.
it was grey. again. they called up upstairs.
can’t you keep the door closed Clarissa or open?
Open it with your hook …
this is a failure too.
its bluebells knotted it's not.
can I?
can O?
can U?
its all undo undone-ing. I swear. Unnatural botany.
…
no. 6
– they went round and round
The world is round said Gertrude.
on Saturday, no-one listens in a book.
Willy and Rose and Henry and tigers and everybody.
still, she climbed on and on … she was a gasp.
The buckets must be never empty.
hey blue grey grey eyes round and round.
the go to here is pretty flat.
flattered like might.
mountains blow apart.
the seas go grey grey too two.
and the skies of the round round are full of putrid smoke.
Mary come here, sit in my lap. sing. sing sing. I implore you.
…
no. 7
– if you look see
If you look see me next you will find the earth smells greyer of Friday.
some days are awkward always Monday is a dig a dig deep.
The task is to water the field with your tears.
the three hexagons chime and mumble.
there is a speech bubble of please in the garden. An award.
its breaking up, Florence you are breaking up …
she held seeds in her apron pockets.
all of them came undone.
there is a little blue blue sky but it is falling, failing.
though it is full of the perfume of her knees,
were there not forget me nots?
shut the door, Tuesday. is humming.
…
