New poetry by Dean Cummings

The membrane above my neck

the grey deep forest is my mind
busy with the unimportant
each complicated day when
one hope is pulled from the roots
down with decay

past experience is regretfully dumped
in black waste bags left to rot
in the forest where no eyes care to lie

waste only used once
then detached
brown
disposed of
consumers of trendy shells
just worn once with fear of rejection

I could build a stream
a creative and confident stream
feeding my experience, assisting my sunlight
to grow
to bind
to give life to this dying forest

• Dean Paul Cummings was born in Carmarthen in 1983 and, after working in the media industry for four years, is currently teaching drama to children and young people in South Wales.

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