A Walk in the Woods

Well, I've just posted this one to a thread in Scoplaw's blog (and QED, but that's just because they seem to be moaning about the lack of new blood - serves them right in my opinion) so I might as well post it here for ridicule:

(and just in case people are wondering, the narrator rarely equates to me)

{ahem ...}

The man with my lover's eyes
borrowed in schoolboy skin
took me hunting: not books,
nor answers this time.

Rather he chose to chase air,
excreted leafshit, line by line,
poisons flavouring the gases:
pollen to sprout in my nostrils;
majoram irritants under my foot -
purple rosemary's
executioner's hood.

One foot broke a twig
discarded by a frugal tree;
the other the ribs
of a squirrel,
the last of its guts
wriggling its blowfly form
back to the earth
eager to straitjacket
its juice.

And my lover's eyes saw me
grimace, shake my boot:
"Mum says you want to be
cremated, like Nana."
I nod and smile, wordless
at my lover's eyes'
ability, within my form,
to guess me. "You smile
funny," he said,

"when you step in shit!"

Oh fuck son, you've learned me
already, and I've only reached
chapter four of your
book!