Cassia* blooms on the sidewalk

I lift my head, and look for
A falling foot;

My own strike the ground,
Grinding the ochre petals

Deeper into the concrete;
Delicate tissues and its crisp collapse! --

Putrid bruises will grow
Where my sole has rested;

But the expanse of wallpapered ground,
Of crushed blossoms too tense,

Stretches ahead and behind,
I am putrified.

I lift my head, and look for
The falling foot.




*Cassias are the trees that line the sidewalks of my housing estate, just so you know.
................................................................................


Right, that's the first thing I've seriously written in a long time since what, last September. Comments please - how is it, do you like it, or more importantly, do you get it? Because if you don't, then I'll quickly file it into the Bad, Embarrassing and Juvenile Poetry folder that if you must know, is quite bloated.

I think the problem is that I take myself too seriously.

Also a note to self: Must take care against reading too much Plath - her poetry fills my head with too weird imagery and discordent rhythms that leave me very unsettled.