Deprived of roots,
she lets her hair loose,
shakes it down over roofs and
doorways to
other people’s mocked-up hovels.
Homes without foundations,
plastic walls floating – on
clogged-up clay.
Chalked-up purples and
felt-tipped reds clamour for a hold,
reaching up to tug down
on strands of twisted cells –
on tangled death –
wanting, needing, willing
Rooted, buried – in
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2018


Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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