rustles. names an impressionist carpet of tan shag, the extrovert an old

cul-de-sac drive fenced knee-high. moribund as this secures a stingray shaped

 

sputum. ho, such sadness, it’s your tonsils hovering concrete from 3 bunks

away. blind torque reveals those weltered fictions, vascular distance:

 

firm-friends & their apple-stance of boredom, politics, or gunning

to the ice-cream-van just about whenever, now look abashed semi-

 

back-lit in the dandenong land. she’s splitting things in halves.

packeted detox powder to exact a new neighbour’s daft inertia:

 

hold me close near to bushfire sun, it’s pleasant aversion this.

what if all 1970s moment held a soft spot, a mnemonic dimple

 

or ontological gloat? we’ll swear at giveway signs, huff & gorge,

the utterances still mysterious, jurisprudence flavoured ‘guava’ now,

 

& i’m more commonly anticipated than ever otherwise; dante

spiralling in the wake of a barge. i thought he’d see me as captain.

 

nothing is a twist – just restaging an intervention with the dog present.

((poking nuzzles at loaves of fish) who cares, to view our saliva, what.)

 

in her window & a gossamer nose! nothing naked doing but

we’d planned to summon feeling from a fleet dive, so

 

test dancing, wade lists, ford experimental knitting, that, &

it might drift away. after treatment huh all is a

 

fail. though, quiet, away, sounds of a pageant.

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