Tangled up in pooh, the flowers of
Existence left unpicked, seed a burden
To the scattered vine. Indulgence turning
Over, soiled earth inheriting. The price of
Existence measured out in bread, driven by
The rising tithe of dripping taps, cast upon
The sure. Blood money won’t remember
Scaling back or wai the ginger root has been.
Stemming from a can do it of worms
Mixed fortune’s life and death, so
Catching what the driftwood left behind.
Sleeps upon a wreath of figure eights
Accosted by the floating butterfly.
Betraying the existing wait
to tranquilize inside a downing sun.
wai is maori for water.