This poem is not easy to explain, so I won't try other than to tell you that 'shooting bunnies' was a term used by a group of public schoolgirls to describe farting. There were other things than that in my mind though. If anybody really wants to know more, please ask and I will try to unravel my thoughts.

 

Alone in the Garden

 

From Eden to Gethsemene,

and weedy lawn beneath my feet.

The serpentine seducer works on now.

There's knowledge deep inside those plants,

to eat and learn what's bad. But,

However bad the pain in your stomach,

the angles of a triangle

still add up to 180 degrees.

 

Consuming passion

soaks through the senses,

and anaesthetises awareness

of a disjointed world.

 

I was riding my bicycle

when the craft landed.

They took me and did surgery on my knees.

 

Three small girls in neat, grey pleats, were

shooting bunnies as they chatted and giggled.

They talked of the siamese twins

created in the damp spots on the sun.

 

There is a time machine in every quark.

But show me the universal nematode who made

the knotted wormholes in space.

 

Oh Mary Quantum, leap into my consciousness

and show me a particle of understanding.

Who is my universal saviour?

 

"Fifty stone man into gloves

and indoor cycling

seeks similar.

No freaks."

 

When the gardener appears

and calls 'Mary',

your first gasp of recognition

evaporates with the spirits

of all lost friends. You are

alone in the garden.