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.