Chapped lips kiss the winds of lucid protest:
Jackets minus buttons awaiting a rebirth

Retreating backwards over a boiled egg,
Wisdom grows with age.

Fruit lies for blackbirds in garden - 
Thread yourself into my clothes
And breathe in my scent

Sarsparella and bare bums and a boiled egg -
What next?

When it all ends I hatch here, it all begins.
The egg came before the chicken.

Who are you, really? Under the make-up?

Mother, heal me and bring the green
Back into my world.