Forsythia

​

It must be spring, he says. The forsythias.

He gestures towards the yellow flowers

seemingly in full bloom.

 

presence of milk in the heart of

flaming sunshine plant

 

petals bright yellow crusts

Husk of sea animal dried

Liminal in the woody rhizomes

a neighbour's yard

 

Spring its own sap as fibre grease

Across the oblivion of  

Mechanical ages, plastics,

now screen glow

 

Xanthophyll burning bush

Wavelength: 575–585 nm

industrial revolution in milk

bovine in green stem and flare petal

 

use keyed-up blue for the whites

in an oil painting

at night even this flame yellow

might appear cool

ultramarine figures in the

life of highlights you’d paint as white

milk in the dark, a pthalo even

with dimming umber

 

a head of thorn scrub

breaks in tempest > newer winds

a white bleeds its fractures

Yet, a mother in art knows

her child of death suckles

​

Some seeds are winged as birds are,

navigate air resistance at heights

where death is a scenario

Imagine yourself that free committing

to the leap out of the plane’s hull

 

Burrow into some slick clay earth

And burn out of its coffin nails and all,

blood-tinged

 

A vampire super hero plant

Fang of calcium
Asterids

astarel

 

winsor yellow from winsor castle of forsythias

Untoned flame yellow olive cultivate

Oleaceae

In the naming exercise illustrated

cads and naples and winsors

 

Sun turned off now

Milk of cobalt and ult blue and sevres

 

All the needs of day sun

Sleeping cool now

Seasonal blue flower midnight

Vampire asleep in seed pod, itches awake