can’t look away squinting & half-hearted

my athleticism failed/flailing your rigour it’s

every other person with comfort to offer

the world spins suffuse with growth with decay

with uncertainty & me i’m on foot a tracker

ranging the ideas or images leading forward

or backward to collaborative solace then

i scuff the loamy sand with my elbow soil stalker

much: working on very intent acts of deletion

where the idea of mood is key the only reward

is in you in thinking of yourself your priorities &

maybe the cold air rattling past flyscreen tonight

inflating & expanding all staggered sentiment

the gusts just oscillations of unlocked accounts

i broke a branch & patted out a stubborn seat

of debris thinking of these lines yet to be written

now previously read you’re signposted such

long highway miles distant with the clouds

burgeoning purple overhead gilding me

as a pastoral loser (mitch pops a wheelie

near the riverbank) back of the page this

sketchy imprint it’s everyone ever: bored &

poorly attempting stuff / the cicada howl

dies down & it’s the land of cousins glimpse

the fun under that snaking redgum dad caught

a turtle but we’re still just the lonely striations

of bark, rendered as peak situation breakers