Batik, by Mark Turbyfill

Batik

Important pale asters
And leering lilies painted peach-color
Writhing to a futile destination,
Vibrant, popping out in lewd insurrection
From the black border
That essays to hold them down.   A stiff ghost tree
Rises out of a blue pond,
Spreading abroad its asteroids of foliage.   The sun-ball flares and fails
On a distant line
Like a disappointed toy balloon.
Cat-tails of yellow splintered flame
Prick up and press about
A fluted pedestal
Bearing a blossoming bowl.
A queer gauche bird
Perches on the rim
And drinks a venemous brew
Of which it faints and dies.   A constellation of bereaved lemon leaves
Flutters to earth in a funereal ballet
Through the limpid mist
Which descends upon this park of papier-maché .

poems.one - Mark Turbyfill