This poem is taken from Stand 224, 17(4) December 2019 - February 2020.

June Wentland Three Poems
Ursa Malum

You should know how your whole world
grew, unperceived, from a pip that fell
in my shit. How it sprouted green, bore fruit

that turned at the slightest tap of my paw –
my own colonic cultivar. Forget the tales,
of some girl, a god, a snake.

Allow into your imagining, a bear and an apple –  
this passion, between wild fruit and beast.
See the juice matting the fur of my chin.

Observe, as I graze the cold foliage of space –
how the crisp flesh adores my glittering teeth
– craves this devouring.


Woodlice

They started to appear,
grazing on parquet, dust, human skin.
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