A New Throne



I have grown heated under my rind;

At rest behind my eyelids,

While the figs ripen, one at a time.

On the edge of being over-ripe,

I’ve cut out drink and drugs

And you could say I’m rationing my cum.


I get up, engage with my work-out

(Health is my new high)

And then soak in the D

From heaven’s oriflamb

By basking at a balmy angle.

What a great big fruit I am!


But shouldn’t I bask

In the moon as well,

Soaking in whatever she releases

Before I fall to pieces?

Might not her more subtle light

Work on the inner sprite


And set off fermentation

So essence might become

L’eau propre de ma vie?

Make of me an alcohol, oh moon,

That bright young figs take swigs from

When immersed in me.


First published in The Spectator.  Now in Songs of Realisation

About anthonyhowelljournal

Poet, essayist, dancer, performance artist....
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