Rap & Revelrye: “Water Cycles” by Lenny Buckley

Sometimes I feel like my body
could be ninety-percent water

(not simply within the walls
of “they say” encyclopaedias,
but a convoluted quietude
only I will comprehend.
Trustworthy me.)

a spiralling wave
ambling about the streets

               or a great big

                    fat water balloon

                           counting the clicks

                                 (approach and recede)

(Who the fuck is They anyway?
They is vague and slow to say hello.)

                   convex and


                                  this is the fix

                                  for the eggshell condition

                                                            trismus meniscus

                                                            meets the prick of a pin.

Though I’m scared and wish
to keep my eyes sucked right back
inside my sockets,

I am the egg.
No – the yolk
(perhaps even the white)
slishing and sloshing
around and about the humble dome
when in comes the crack; the morning light smile.
I am not the cracker,
but I welcome the deed,
unwelcome though it may be.
I dance in the glass,
a ballerina to my alien fork friend,
before ebbing to the edge,
aware of the mess that lies ahead,
but strangely certain
the frying pan
will return my
It is here I will stand
waiting for the green man,
hoarding my kisses
and incessantly








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