The Red Forest

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The forest is red.

Not a golden, autumnal red,

The red of ambulance sirens, donor pouches 

And surgical instruments scraping metal dishes.

Its branches make a circuit; aorta - vena cava:

So fragile, fundamental; so terrifying

As they intertwine, wrap like fingers around my wrists.

The forest is a labyrinth.

Mind-games and word-tricks trapping 

Me in thickets.

Red! Red!

Pulsating veins,

Toenails cutting into hard-rubber shoes,

Crimson trees towering,

Scarlet canopy sinking down.

I crouch, spinning

in the blurred blood room,

Yellow, spotting up in the 

Red lorry yellow lorry red lolly

Black.