AnnMarie Eldon

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Bite now.
No time to tinsel tendons.
Take heart,
take blood. One
pulse here

needs its
Go body on me.

Spit whateverís spare there:



No need to prove
God substantial,
debunk death.

Youíre gonna post
some thing of your

a fresh hurry,
unmusked by its wimple envelope,
cadenced slow lick,
and in one
send me

to nightís Incest House.
Demand nacreous solutions; make

us family.
Make us fucking family.



Perfume or poison.
Everythingís risk. Nevertheless, I donít want

anyoneís view of me.
I getta grip, just as I
believe. I

never cín tell if
this is calm or storm:

some sort of miraculous


either event Iím
both saving and drowning.

Sundayís cure for hecticity
was Jesus walking on

One little s(l)ip and I threat-
en to tip.

Therefore I wait: pull myself
round. Up. Out.

ĎN bottle it.
Stoppered. Transparent.

Everythingís risk.


Wild (haiku-em)
In Common Horse-tail,
locked. ítranced by Pendulous Sedge.
Up to Tufted Hair.

Then Cockís Foot, oh my
Flowering Rush, Quaking Grass.
All fist sticky. Vased.

Iíve picked, bunched, watered.
Mmm, see how still the Marram
holds the Marestail

Cotton or Bottle?
I wonder how your penis
would do, tamed by hand.


Bio: AnnMarie Eldon was born in Birmingham, England and raised in one tiny 2 up 2 down house in a terrace which inspired her nom de plume. She has been in previous incarnations, wife, psychotherapist, corporate wizardatrix. Previously to September 2001 she divided her sense of irony between homes in the US and UK. She now attempts her escape from mediocrity within the confines of a picturesque Oxfordshire town, juggling hormones, various children and dogs.