Urban Physic Garden

ward me off     is it the way of all saints
wreathed over eikons &     then high
strength & standardised     sunshine
supplement     my grand multidollar
placed in tincture vats     nervine &
vulnerary     I would stuff you in my
mouth     confess against myself
yr radiance is beautiful & upright
I find you solar at midsummer
o
sign me off     it is not what is supposed
to happen     given to phantasmata &
Low Mood     I want seed of bracing quality
for wounds & parasites     I stand ajar
desire astringency & conscious breakfast
are you my top depression specialist
can you carry me away the whole night
yr rich history     stained in alcohol
& fewer side effects     is dosage
o
I am played in windows     the illusion
of holes     yr leaves given to facture
& downy films     are leaded lights     as if
frame rates     spell the seven stages
of woman     to cure diseases of the eye
so age arrives unseen     under yr terrestrial
sun     calm & shadowless     what is chased
away     in the transparency of oils     what is
change     its noon     placebo     easing
o
this is my doctrine of signatures     hurl
a stick for the black dog     the crush of
living     bloody & stigmatic     is headless
apocrypha     perhaps Salome gets it in the neck
or St John was a woman worthy of name
what pharmacopeia could heal this
heretical transition     & its defenestrations
if not     hypericon     beyond images
perforatum     holed &     passing through
 
 
Carol Watts
(From Herbarium, a new poetry anthology. Launch and reading 22 July)