Wednesday, December 01, 2010

coal orchid

Bloodsport
Coal Orchid
The Bodybroker
Fillet

The sun came out and began to heat the mist in the down. Five jet brilliants drew incessantly to the splayed nostrils. Behind the wire fence, a copse of low shrub: fresh green leaves and withered black haws. White roots forked and bulged in the moist, stony ground.

Equine shadow , surface of the shale,

something luminous in the mane, fiber optic

whinnied, snickered and showed her wolf tooth. Josie pummelled the beaten numnah.

Shell-coloured vervain stood proud of the cropped pasture; the ponies wouldn't touch it. This ground was mostly too bare for buttercups. One great ribbon-stemmed thistle bristled on the earthwork, putting out a forest of spines.

The other ponies sidled into the elder field.

She placed her arm around the enormous snaky neck, but she couldn't lean, while the pony's breath came in thick clots.

"I can't leave her."

"In the hanging you can."

"No, it's too risky. I'm calling Sid."

Sid was the knackerman. A silence fell.

"She's not a coddled little miss."

It began to rain. It was Christmas. She walked with steady strides until she was on the Cheeky Chilli. She lit up.

3 Comments:

At 3:24 pm, Blogger Vincent said...

Racing tips? Or poem?

 
At 6:44 pm, Blogger Michael Peverett said...

um yes.. good spot! I hadn't decided really where it was going.

 
At 1:51 pm, Blogger TC said...

Exquisite, Michael.

 

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