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a walk in the country that turned out to be nothing like the one wordsworth took ( the one about the daffodils) trees spattered with poison sacs force their roots into platinum fields in a stream of mercury armoured fish hang in the current a dragonfly metallic and savage drills a path through the air leaving ragged edges curling birds carve their hysteria on the sky porcelain clouds collide with burning iron hills and shatter brambles tighten around my throat steel discs skip across the valley cutting me in two the earth is flesh and blood evaporates in the city violent strangers bless my path |  |