Thursday 26 November 2009

#74 - The Crust Of Pies

Ivan has this nightmare where he crowbars
off the dry, papery lid of a huge pie
like some giant insect's dessicated thorax,

only inside, instead of mortal loads of gooey gobbets,
lungbags and thudding sacs, guts and cud-like muck
amongst dendrite tangles slick with gravy,

he finds another, smaller pastry shell,
which he cracks through to find another,
then another. He hacks through nesting doll layers,

flakes of pastry whipping up
round his head
like dead leaves,
or burning pages.

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