(for B and G)

Between the slug

and the lettuce

lies the shadow

of our green-eyed monsters

which, biting

white china

make tea dribble


circumnavigate the ‘ch-‘ sound

in chilli; cheese and onion

but then, Proust, dead, would have died

for our here and now,


seeing how,

seeing how we can stream


bite the madelaine,

the madelaine, the lettuce,

the slug and tea-cup,

being just so, three of us,


like that, having tasted,

bitten; painted, photographed,


blue/green eyed,

better than,


than the mythical


so-called monster with no more

fangs than the furry green dragon

cuddling St George in the market-place

as we speak.




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