In my nightgarden
there are no skies, no birds,
no butterflies, no chirping or humming.

only nettles
huge, towering nettles.
they are black, i think.

like totems, leviathan, angels of the night
ivy, inky, and enthralling
burning deeply in my mind

from the fat of my tissue
whitby jet ribbons unfurling and curling
like inchworms writhing and squirming
fuller, pump, plumper every day

sick and sweet in my image.

26th august 2026.