I am dreaming of my children
in fields of long green grasses and cornflower blue.
We are laughing under the skirts of the sky
grabbing the heads of flowers in our fists
as we hurl to the top of the hill.
We will roll down to the water,
we will swim in our reflection.
At the crest we fall into the tall grasses,
the green unclean on our clothes,
bending the stems but they do not break.
Now, I am lying, here now, staring at the ceiling.
It is not how I imagined it,
the straight lines of more-than-blue
planted beneath the grassy parapet.
The lake was banked byÖ
I cannot say it, what I saw
yesterday, I went to buy some flowers,
I went to the supermarket to buy some flowers.
I could see them through the window,
through the see-through plastic wrapping.
I could have sworn
they were too blue.
The label said Farmed in Africa.
The TV said the lake was half full of dying.
The TV said women were being raped in rows.
I was thinking,
they are spreading their spores
into everything even
this is how it is,
cross-polluted by slow science.
The label said Long Life, but I am thinking
they are dying already.
I could look away and keep my mouth shut,
not to swallow their dreaming lies.
I could block my ears from all that noise
but still it would permeate;
change me whilst I sleep
through this life.
I am pricked by their ambition,
now pregnant with their desires
I will give birth to
I am the GM dream.
They are watching me,
reflecting me, directing me,
giving me What I Want
even though I donít know it
I am being made in their image.
I didnít buy the flowers,
I remembered the lakeís blue
before it was banked by the bodies of animals,
their carcasses curved in the water,
breaking up the reflection of the sky like black holes.
They are dying for flowers
that arenít even blue.
I am dying into the mirror
with no followers.