
still wet, barely made
provisional colour
(Dear reader, the layout of this poem is important — I did my best with wordpress, but if words go a wandering on your screen, it’s available here as a pdf).
Continue reading10 November 2020. Springhill Road, Port Kembla.
After it happened,
some stayed in their cars
some got out and stood
and those closest
did for him.
in a poem weather’s never weather, there’s something other:
behind that cloud, transitory; in back of sunshine, egg.
if it’s raining, it’s not raining; if it’s bright it’s harsh
if the valley’s brimmed with fog, well maybe…
hang ears in chandeliers
tie cams to hummingbird wings
bribe the barista & delivery guy
badger dormouse & eavesdrop on
spidey’s sticky lines
(after William Bronk)
back then was much the same
the scope, the skies:
blues and greens, scarlet cloud-tops
the moon electric on the washing line. Continue reading