Lemonade

 

Lemon

zest a room full of winter 

Juicing a storm for April's fools 

Fifty litres

Is the product of patience 

 

Wipe the altar 

May the God of small-batch 

Relativity be pleased 

With my hand-made in Hackney hackery

 

Wash 

Cut 

Press 

 

Repeat

Upon her 

Dress 

 

Tears 

That turn the scent 

Of citric acid to egg

 

All I need is a sieve

 

Pouring pulp

From a height 

Releases volatile gas 

 

I ignite the room 

With the smell 

Of rotting sulphur

 

Can't remember her smell

Flesh turned grey 

Dressed in green

 

Fifty litres is what we need

 

Cerebrally 

I will be out by 5 

 

Home time used to be 3

When we ran down spiralling stairs 

Into a balloon-like bag of a heart

 

Now 

it's just time to depart 

 

Nursing hands that throb

To the anxious bass 

of a bag-like brain

falling out of shape.

 

Wrap the bottle around 

Recycle glass no end 

Spirit so sound. 

 

Let me borrow it's resilience.

A few shards never hurt no-one.  

 

Quarter past five

I got big headphones on. 

STAY THE FUCK AWAY. 

Don't they know we need fifty litres?! 

 

How I wish it were thousands 

How I wish that life were just lemon 

Not these segments of flesh

Tortured in the physics of process

 

Contrast neo-pagan nature worship

With elders from way before the slave ship 

 

I wear a beard and drink piss for breakfast 

Roam around in antioxidants 

I'm anti Oxygen. 

 

Is the jihad so different?

They’re all seeking

some kind of authentic

experience? 

some meaning experience

 

Re-discovering the ancient 

distil it’s sediment 

Bring me the unprocessed 

 

No filter 

I can see clear Under the filaments

 

Data

in between remains of sand  

Flown in and out by drone 

from who's homeland?

 

Inflate the price of oil 

like Quinoa in Ramadan.

 

I

am a post-modern frontiersman 

Slash Democratic Aristocrat

Gentle gentrifier

Of brown-filled brick

 

What do you believe in?

 

She replied

I'm a raw foodist

Eighty three percent vegan 

Used to be veggie 

But then I cut dairy 

This blender now

Digests all my food for me 

I mix the rest with

indigenous chromosomes  

rare specimens of saccharine. 

Downed like shots

To get a deep cleanse 

There's an online shop 

I can refer you as a friend 

You just need to type in this code. 

can you help me un-code 

 

This ancient recipe

From that place you still call home? 

At least tell me what the Arabic says

You're from Acton. 

 

No I’m not

And I can't read traditional text 

I know it's dread 

Some days I get vex

My family (couldn't) didn’t teach me 

 

They wanted me to fit in

and now I've booked this flight out

 

There’s no place for me in your economy 

you’ve democratised Saffron, Turmeric an 

and Pomegranate Tea 

 

Plus these days you need a degree 

Just to juice lemon 

 

(they point at me) 

 

I can't read your instructions. 

I'm under instruction

not to speak to -

 

Manuka honey that's blessed in Yemen 

Maybe that’s the answer?

 

What do I know? 

I'm juicing lemon because, nature.

 

I seek out the abuse of her nature.

Not mum, the other one - 

who likes to have Manichaean fun

 

Mum they said is from

Semnan, 

She was the first girl in her village

to ever ride a bike 

 

And that's nice.

 

I guess that was her nature. 

 

Sharbatdaar

The possessor of drinks

Her nomenclature.

 

I’m juicing lemon because 

I’m no longer there. 

 

I Never was. 

 

Yet they had lemon

And then that thing is here. 

 

So I 

Lemon zest a room full of winter. 

Juicing a storm for April's fools. 

Fifty litres, is the product of patience. 

 

Wipe the altar 

Prepare for citral slaughter. 

May the god of small batch relativity 

Free me 

from my amateur insalubrity. 

 

Wash 

Cut 

Press 

 

Repeat

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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