A poem by Dee McMahon


One whiff a six year old idyll damp rotting blackberry leaves.  Red fruit the size of little finger painted nails surrounded by glistening bottle green

Exotic, it is not.  Nor absent from the impact.  In that Ambre Solaire moment, the blue chlorine pooled tinkle laughter shrieked on a summer's day, resonant and rightfully owning all the airwaves.  Tobacco juiced brown on my finger sister skin, rolled to break down what it offers, tracing the experience of tweedy aromas, clinging peat smokiness rack tacked to nerve ends in diminishing sense until one day a passer by retrieved

Expectation of taste

Turkish delighted or body shopped tea citrussy fresh with a colour that lies of lemon connections, and black velveteen deep.  Assaulted outside my door purpled and bushy scenting the way.  Scrambled on Ligurian hills boar family thicket in autumnal pursuit of fear.  Perugia materialising in you, your young on a hillside in seasoned wilderness and sage.  A sudden drop to be fodder forgotten

The panic attack stench of a Cologne train station high summer heat flies.  Lies between friends ride on expectations directionless alien cities sense lost in the break down rip up tear of redundant maps.  You oblivious wanting to be found.  Finding you at that pissed up place exhausted out of all.  Waiting to be told.  What to grow to

Minerals on air iodine laced and braced to it through humid fresh flesh skin hair laying down salty elemental tissue.  Nourishing slime rubbered sun dried stands a tangle of washed hair on rocky heads.  Blankness tinged to white grey blue mirrored in my delivery of this always home always

A barrier for some

This is important.  Hot sand on white slabs dried dune blue air grasses distant wash throughrush

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