The breeze pulls vapours, pulls
moist clues from your
pores. Drops of dew hold
hedgerow-shades and sky; wink
expanse. Hawthorn buds are sore;
when wet rests
on them. Stinks
of all kinds rise
from the ditch and patches of
plants' scuffed and crushed stems: sense scented; roots
of wild lives distilled, leaked, spread
ments; reliefs or blood-claims; feral truths.
Squat. Ground pulls
a thread from between your legs;
in your kidneys. You breathe
as your glistening stream connects
with grass. Feg
its scent mixed with yours. Why
the waters, the drips, the dew, grow
green, yellow or with soil. (But's obscured
Unzip. Stand still. (Feel
you're being watched.) Aim
your soft pipe towards the shared urinal.
your rivulet of urine, your name
in streaked yellow liquid, your self's smell
an other's piss: mix
frothily and swirl
between green cubes down
the drain hole. The glug,
as your last drink's waste goes
to a plural world,
is the piss-take belch of an underground glutton.
No one's kissed your kidneys; touched
the place where,
in secret, your identity's solubles
are distilled —
it's your interior.
Yet now you plunge
you into the communal
pool. The public latrine's mixed stink's
millions linked. Think!Think!Think!Think!Think!Think!Think!